


With All My Heart

by Hevheia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Makkachin is a horse (sorry doggo ily), Royalty, Slow Burn, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-11-07 08:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11055291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hevheia/pseuds/Hevheia
Summary: Once upon a time there was a prince and if you stole his heart, you would live forever. But the prince would only have three days left.Or: the tale of a Heartless King and a scullion.





	1. I Remember It Well

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or the story elements taken from the series. Full credit goes to the makers of Yuri!!! on Ice.

No one forgot the skating of the Heartless Prince.

Yuuri was there the first time the Prince participated in the Grand Ball Festival. The first time he had to prove to the Great Council and the people of Ussira and the neighbouring kingdoms that he was worthy of his title, that he was worthy of their trust. Being the youngest prince to participate, he went first, and the crowd held its breath when he stepped on the ice. 

His long, silver hair was beautifully braided, hanging over his shoulder and chest. His costume sparkled like a universe, and his golden blades shone like the sun as he skated to the middle of the rink.

There were whispers about the Heartless Prince's skating. _Enchanting. Captivating. Magical._ Some ascribed it to the magic inside his empty chest, others to the emptiness itself, but all agreed that it was truly incomparable.

The Prince took his starting pose, face lifted at the sky, eyes closed and a faint, almost tantalising smile around his lips. The music began, and his arms started moving first, playful and precise. When he opened his eyes, Yuuri was shocked by their vivid blue, clear and impenetrable at the same time.

Then he skated, and Yuuri forgot the whole world. He marvelled at the Prince's beauty and elegance, at the ease with which he slid across the ice, jumping and landing as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Perfectly synchronised with the light and innocent music, smiling absentmindedly throughout, and warming everyone's heart in the process. He was a creature belonging to the ice, familiar with its fickleness and trusted with all its secrets. It made Yuuri feel like a bystander, like an intruder, yet he couldn't avert his eyes. He couldn't help wanting to join them. The Heartless Prince and the ice.

He felt a sting of disappointment when the music ended and the Prince stopped skating, but he clapped along excitedly with the thunderous applause. His mother handed him a gorgeous flower of the deepest blue, and Yuuri threw it on the ice with all the other flowers, his heart nearly bursting out of his chest.

The Prince held his ending pose for a couple of seconds more, his breath heaving and his cheeks bright red, before bowing deeply in every direction, smiling and waving at the cheering crowd. On his way to the exit of the rink, he stopped and picked a flower from the ice. A flower of the deepest blue. He waved it at the audience before leaving the rink, and Yuuri yelled like he had never done before.

He was too dazed with happiness to really pay attention to the skating of the other princes, still thinking about the silver hair and golden blades. The warm glow didn't leave him for the remainder of the Grand Ball Festival, and was only strengthened by the free skate of the Heartless Prince two days later, equally enthralling and beautiful.

It was clear to everyone: this was what a prince should be.

Even now, at the age of twenty-three, Yuuri could still picture every detail perfectly, every move and every expression. He could still see every shining gem and every escaped hair, could still trace every new line on the ice. But he could also still feel confusion tugging at his mind every time he thought about the Prince. An inability to understand, to match the stories he had been told with what he had witnessed.

_It's unbelievable he doesn't have a heart._

He had grown up with the tale of the Heartless Prince, everyone of his generation had. Sometimes, he still heard the story being told to little children, often with other stories such as the Sleeping Beauty, the Silent Queen or the more recent one of the Runaway Prince. It had changed, though, it was longer than it used to be. But then again, it wasn't the tale of the Heartless Prince anymore. It had become the tale of the Heartless King.

_Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Ussira, a prince was born._

_The fairy of Ussira came to bless the royal child with good fortune, wisdom and kindness, but as soon as her fingers touched the infant, her eyes rolled back and she spoke with a voice that wasn't hers:_

Once upon a time there was a prince and if you stole his heart, you would live forever. But the prince would only have three days left.

_She fought off the power taking hold of her, and when she came to herself she apologised to the King and Queen. They looked at her with worry and fear carved deep in their faces._

_"Why him?" the Queen asked through the tears shining in her eyes._

_The fairy looked at the child, peacefully sleeping, not aware of the terrible future that was awaiting him. "Sometimes curses don't need a reason."_

_She still blessed him with wisdom and kindness, but the good fortune wore off quickly._

_The tale of the curse spread through the castle in waves of rumours, rolling and rippling from tongues that were eager to tell. And from the castle it spread and spread like water trickling through every crack, every cleft, every sliver, and before long the whole kingdom and beyond was buzzing with the tale of the prince with his magical heart. Men and women started to dream of all the possibilities it would grant them, ambitious and greedy. And as their dreams grew bigger and their greed ran deeper, they began scheming to steal his heart._

_Every night thieves attempted to infiltrate the castle and get the Prince's heart, and every time, they could be stopped before they reached the royal residences. Until one night, a cunning thief made it to the Prince's room. The King was just in time to save his son, but was mortally wounded during the fight, and despite the attempts of the healers to save the King, he didn't make it through the night._

_The Queen was torn with grief, and called on the fairy for help like she so often did. This time, the fairy answered her prayers._

_As the Queen held the little Prince in her arms, the fairy opened his chest and took out his heart with the words: "It is still yours, little Prince, hide it well." She filled the empty space in his chest with magic, but even though it was strong enough to keep him alive, they say it couldn't replace his heart and all its powers. They say the Prince would never be able to feel love as long as he is separated from it._

_The Queen felt broken because of her son's fate, but she was strong and carried on. She immediately sent out hundreds of ships, all supposedly carrying the heart to hide it in a faraway no-man's land, so no one would know its actual hiding place. No one even knew if the heart was taken by a ship at all, for every room of the castle became heavily guarded as if to protect a treasure inside. The heart could be anywhere. People tried and tried to find it, following the routes of the ships, scavenging the lands. Mountain tops, desert wastelands, waterfall caves. But it was nowhere to be found._

_Meanwhile, the Queen held the throne until her son was of age, and the Prince grew up. Promising and beautiful. A prince worthy of the throne like no one ever would be. Everyone admired him, worshiped their Heartless Prince. Although the rumours whispered he couldn't feel any love, could never love anyone himself, he was still kind and generous, just and fair like a prince should be. Like a king should be._

_His ice skating only proved his capability. He was breathtaking on the ice, his staggering beauty and elegance even more emphasised than it was off of it. No one could look away, no one_ wanted _to look away. He proved himself every Grand Ball, unparalleled by the princes from other kingdoms. And the crowds cheered and loved him even more._

_When he was sixteen, the Queen took ill and passed away unexpectedly. The Prince was still underage, but the Council decided to crown him due to his astounding potential and virtue. No one objected._

_And so the young, Heartless Prince became the young, Heartless King, while many still searched for eternal life in the form of his heart._

_So goes the tale of King Viktor Nikiforov._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins! :D  
> Next chapter will be up Saturday 3th of June, and from then on, I will keep postig every Wednesday and Saturday.  
> Come visit me on my [tumblr](https://skating-husbands.tumblr.com)!  
> Don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'd love to hear what you think! <3


	2. We Take What We're Given

When Yuuri opened his eyes, there was no light peeking through the cracks of the wooden door yet, but he knew the sun would rise soon. He slipped out of the blankets, the cold immediately biting his skin, and dressed quickly, careful not to wake Phichit who was sleeping on the pallet at the other side of the hut. He hadn't heard Phichit coming in last night after his guarding shift, so he might as well return the favour. He sneaked out of the door, and his heart pounded happily at the sight of the snow covering the ground. It had been freezing for days, and the thick layer of the white substance proved it wouldn't stop any time soon. Maybe tonight he could finally go to the lake; his feet had been aching for months.

With new energy in his step, Yuuri made his way to the castle. A few servants were already bustling around to get everything ready for the day. Preparing breakfast for King Viktor and the other residents, checking the pantries, lighting torches and candles all around. Yuuri ate a loaf of bread and some dried fruit before getting to his chores himself. He started with cleaning out fireplaces while the royal family was still asleep, kindling fire as soon as he was done so the chill rooms would warm up.

Meanwhile the sun peered over the horizon, and Yuuri retreated to the kitchens, cleaning pots and bowls used for breakfast, scrubbing floors, peeling potatoes for dinner. The hard work didn't bother him as much today, every glance at the snow outside lifted his spirits higher, every passing minute increased the anticipation in his gut.

While his hands worked the familiar tasks, his mind wandered. It had been three years already since he had come to work in King Viktor's household. He'd been lucky to have come across Phichit in a nearby town. The guard in training had seen Yuuri in an inn and had picked up a conversation with him, ever the social butterfly. He happened to know they were looking for another scullion in the castle, and without waiting for Yuuri's answer had decided to take him there immediately. Before Yuuri knew it, he stood in front of the chief cook Seung-gil Lee with his few belongings in a little bag, Phichit blabbering on and on about his new friend and all his qualities, making things up along the way. The cook just eyed him up and down for a while, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

"Can you work?" he just asked, ignoring Phichit's yapping.

Yuuri nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

And that was that. He moved to Phichit's hut where happened to be an empty pallet left, and began his life as a scullion.

It was strange, now he thought about it, how he had met Phichit just at the right time. He had been wandering, not knowing what to do or where to go. Only knowing that he couldn't go back. He had been running out of money and couldn't afford to stay in an inn every night anymore, or to buy enough food to get him through the days. But then, as if on cue, he had come across Phichit.

Even though the work was hard and it wasn't very rewarding, he was happy to be there. He was grateful for the roof above his head, the food in his stomach and the friend he had found in the young guard.

But most of all he was grateful to have ended up in the palace of no one less than King Viktor himself.

He had only caught glimpses of the King since he lived in the castle. A flash of short silver hair here, the sparkling of a gemstone ring there, the sound of a rich voice, speaking a language he didn't understand but sounded like the sweetest melody he had ever heard. He made sure he stayed well out of sight and out of the King's way, though. He was only a scullion, after all.

He often thought about the King. Was he awake yet? Was he meeting with the Council now? And always: was he skating?

Yuuri often wished he could see the training sessions, but they were very private, only accessible for the members of the royal family and coach Yakov. He had to wait until the Grand Ball Festival where he sat all the way to the back and finally saw the King take to the ice, finally saw him come alive on the cold surface to enchant him once again.

The flat voice of the chief cook shook Yuuri out of his reveries. "Go help with the laundry now, you're in my way."

Yuuri apologised and quickly got out of the kitchens. He had witnessed Seung-gil Lee getting angry once, and he'd genuinely thought the cook would kill the poor kitchen boy just by glaring at him. Just thinking about his deadly eyes sent shivers up Yuuri’s spine.

He busied himself the remainder of the day with the laundry, careful not to burn himself on the hot steam or the crackling fires. As dinner drew closer he was called to the kitchen again to help out, and did the dishes afterwards. Most of the servants were already getting ready for bed, but it was Yuuri's turn to scrub the greasy kitchen floor and soon he was the only one remaining. He was fine with that, he had to wait until the castle was asleep before he could run off to the lake anyway. Better to have something to keep him busy in the meantime.

It was pitch dark outside when Yuuri finally made his way to the hut, clouds veiling the moon and stars. Phichit wasn't there when he entered, so Yuuri figured he was already on duty.

Even though he felt exhausted and his pallet looked very inviting, Yuuri couldn't let this chance slip away. Determined, he pulled out his bag from where he hid it underneath his blankets and left again. He wrapped his cloak around him tightly, and pulled his hood down. After making sure there was no one around, he slid into the shadows and made his way to the woods behind the little huts. It was quite a walk, but Yuuri held a steady pace, and before long, he reached his destination.

The lake was completely frozen. Yuuri watched it for a moment, drinking in the sight of the ice, black in the darkness of the night, finally thick enough. He hung his bag and cloak on a low, strong branch of a nearby tree so the snow wouldn't soak the fabric. He ignored the stinging cold on his skin, and reached inside. When his fingers touched the familiar contents, his breath hitched. It had been so long. Too long.

He couldn't wait any second longer.

A smile spread across his lips when his eyes caught sight of his skates. _Finally._

After he had safely tucked his glasses in his bag, he put them on, a difficult task when he couldn't sit down and had to wobble on one leg to avoid touching the snow, a hand on the tree for support. When they were tightly laced, he made his way to the edge of the lake.

He had searched for a place like this when he had come to the castle, knowing he could never survive without being able to skate. It had taken him quite some time to find it, he had been scouring the woods for weeks until he had stumbled on this lake. It was small, way smaller than an actual rink, but Yuuri was too overjoyed to mind.

His first steps on the ice were a little shaky, after so many months he had to get used to the feeling again, but it didn't last long. Years and years of training weren't so easily forgotten, and soon he gained speed and confidence. His arms moved along and his steps grew more complicated with each passing minute. He flew into a camel spin that soon turned into a combination. He had missed this. The wind on his face and in his hair, his cheeks burning despite the cold, the full sound of his skates on the ice. The feeling of being _alive_.

Coming out of the spin, he skated some more rounds, scattered with memories of choreographies. And then: gaining speed, he prepared himself for a jump. Familiar anticipation hummed in his muscles, they remembered what to do. They would never forget. _Now._ He took off into the air, spinning and spinning. Weightless and flying, if only for a few seconds. His skates hit the ice and he laughed in relief. A triple toe loop, not the hardest jump there was, but he was only warming up.

He had missed this so much.

He skated for a long time, but he knew he had to stop eventually. A heavy feeling settled in his chest at the thought of leaving the ice, but if he wanted to get some decent sleep before another day of shattering work, he knew he had to. Besides, his stamina wasn't what it used to be, his skating was getting sloppy because of the exhaustion and he couldn't risk getting injured.

He left the ice content and satisfied. Despite flubbing a few of the more difficult jumps, it couldn't bring down his good mood. It was the first time he skated again after so long, and he was confident it would get better with more practice.

On his way back he was already thinking about the next night. About doing full routines instead of just bits and pieces, and which one would be the best to start with.

He was glad to see Phichit wasn't back from his shift yet, and slipped beneath his blankets. Just in time it seemed, not five minutes later, the door opened and Phichit tiptoed inside. Yuuri didn't have to pretend to be asleep for long, though, quickly gliding into dreams full of white lines appearing on a frosty lake.

*****

 

A few weeks went by with days filled with work and nights filled with skating.

While the other servants complained about the severe winter and grumbled at the dawn of each new cold day, Yuuri couldn't feel anything but relief when the frost hit him every morning. He dreaded the arrival of spring and feared each night of skating was his last. What would he do when it was really getting warmer? He wasn't ready yet to give it up again, to go back to empty days without purpose or relief. One night more, he thought every day, please just one night more.

"Do you want to go to the town with me tomorrow?" Phichit asked one day, seeming to sense Yuuri's tension. "I have to collect something from the silversmith."

Yuuri looked up from his plate, a grateful smile around his lips. They did this sometimes; even though Seung-gil Lee was officially in charge of Yuuri, his ranking was so low he had to follow orders of basically everyone. Including Phichit. It wasn't his fault Phichit decided to just bring him along, was it?

"Do you really think you still have to ask?" he said with a smirk and Phichit laughed.

They left before noon the next day, Yuuri making sure they had everything with them while Phichit got his horse and arranged a donkey for Yuuri. Phichit talked throughout the journey, informing Yuuri of all the new gossip in the castle. Phichit was kind and Yuuri loved his friend, but he was the worst in keeping secrets; if Phichit heard or saw something, you could be sure everyone else knew in no time. He didn't mean to be mean or rude, he just liked to know about people's lives. And talk about them. But it offered a nice distraction, and Yuuri found himself enjoying Phichit’s stories.

"How was your shift?" Yuuri asked when Phichit took one of his rare pauses to breathe, little clouds visible in the freezing air.

"Oh, Yuuri, it was so boring. I mean, I love being a knight and protecting the King and all that stuff, but I don't understand why so many of us have to stand guard all the time? Yes, yes," he said when Yuuri opened his mouth to argue, "I know it's to 'protect the King's heart' wherever that may be... I don't believe it's in the castle, to be honest. It wouldn’t be very clever to keep it there, would it? It's way safer somewhere out there, you know, less chance of someone finding it. Anyway, at least I stand guard with Georgi. He always has something interesting to tell. Or always had. Now he can't talk about anything but his new girlfriend Anya. It was all right in the beginning, but it's getting tedious. I just can't wait for something exciting to happen."

He sighed dramatically and Yuuri chuckled. In other words: Phichit just couldn't wait for an exciting story to tell everyone.

The streets of the town were deserted except for some lonely figures and a couple of children playing in the snow. Their heads followed them as they looked up at Phichit in awe. They didn't seem so impressed by the sight of him, Yuuri noticed. And why would they? He was just some servant riding a donkey, plain and ordinary next to Phichit's fine steed. He bet they hadn't even noticed him.

He quickly reprimanded himself for the irrational sadness the thoughts conjured. It was better this way.

They decided to eat before going to the silversmith, and descended their horse/ donkey close to the inn where they had first met. Yuuri politely declined when Phichit offered to pay for his meal as well; he had brought his own food. He didn't like being indebted to someone, even if it was to his best friend.

Yuuri had already claimed a table while Phichit exchanged the latest news and gossip with the innkeeper. He watched small snowflakes starting to fall from the sky, and couldn't help but smile. At least one night more. Absentmindedly, his fingers traced a skating routine on the wooden table. Curling lines and circles, glints of silver and icy blue.

His fingers stilled when his ears picked up the conversation of the table next to him.

"... seen him in the county of Nacada," a deep voice said. "My cousin has very keen eyes, you know, he's a hunter. Best archer there is, I tell you. No way could he have been mistaken."

"Last thing I heard, he was found dead and cold in the Onshina river in Ohinn," another said in nasal tones.

"Rubbish," a third man said, contempt evident in his voice, "no one's ever going to find that lousy scum again. Even if, by some miracle, he's not eaten by wolves yet and has finally found the balls to return, no one will ever want him back. Good riddance, if you ask me! Do you remem-"

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Phichit said brightly as he fell down on the chair in front of Yuuri. "Guang-Hong had so much to tell me!" And off he went repeating everything to Yuuri. Yuuri only listened with one ear. He tried to tune in on the other conversation again, but the men were speaking in hushed voices that were drowned out by the excited babbling of his friend.

Afterwards, they went to the silversmith's, who had already laid out what they came for. And Yuuri momentarily forgot the conversation he had overheard.

There were six drinking cups set out on a table, elegant and delicate with graceful lines that were woven into each other in complicated patterns, so different from the curling floral styles of Yuuri's home country. He recognised the pattern, but in his memory it was embroidered on red fabric and dancing across the ice.

But what really caught his attention was what was lying next to the cups. Two bracelets, elegant and simple in shape, but intricate and dazzling in decoration. Fine gemstones scattered in tangled waves and spirals and meanders, creating a bewitching play of colours. Yuuri felt the sudden urge to touch the precious jewellery, to feel the smooth surface that was roughened by the gemstones underneath his fingertip. He could hold himself back just in time. Fortunately, the silversmith was too busy laughing amiably at Phichit's joke to notice the awkward twitch of Yuuri's arm. He hastily took a step back and inspected the other objects in the room.

After a couple of minutes of catching up, Phichit checked the goods and handed the silversmith a heavy money bag. They thanked him after putting the cups and bracelets into a bag and left the workshop. And Yuuri could breathe again.

*****

 

Yuuri's skating was restless that night. He landed only half of his jumps and his step sequences were hurried and impatient, his spins aggressive and frustrated.

After failing yet another jump he didn't immediately get back up again. He sat there with his head between his knees. _Stop thinking. Breathe in. Breathe out._ With every exhale he distanced himself more from the worries and fear nagging away at his mind, letting them go and drift away from him. Instead thinking of complex patterns in gemstones and embroidery.

It went better afterwards, he landed more jumps and could focus on the routine now that his mind was clearer, hearing the music in his head.

By the time he went back to the hut, he had calmed down completely. And he fell in a dreamless sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"Yuuri! Wake up, Yuuri!" Yuuri jumped awake, confused and disoriented. His stomach dropped when he saw the light filtering through the door.

"Oh no," he whispered, then he turned to Phichit who was already getting dressed. "What time is it?" Panic was rising in his throat, tinging his voice.

"Almost noon," Phichit answered with an apologetic smile.

"Oh no," Yuuri repeated with feeling. He threw off the blankets and jumped into his trousers. "He's going to kill me." He didn't bother to take off his night shirt, but simply stuffed the hem into his trousers as he ran out the door. He sprinted to the castle, hoping Seung-gil hadn't noticed yet and he could sneak in and pretend he had been working all morning. Maybe if-

"Looks like Sleeping Beauty is finally kissed awake by her prince," Seung-gil said as soon as Yuuri walked into the kitchen. Yuuri kept his eyes firmly to the ground during the lecture that followed, afraid of being stared to death. He got off quite well, though, just some more hours in the laundry, and he had to scrub the kitchen floor every evening for a month --which he already did anyway.

But luck didn't seem to be on his side that day. He almost got himself burned, tripped over his own feet with a bowl of bread in his hands, and due to a dinner party upstairs, the kitchen floor was greasier than ever. By the time he could go back to his hut, his eyelids were heavy and his limbs were numb and he had the desperate need for this day to end.

When he neared his hut, he could see the orange glow of a torch burning inside. Phichit must have a day off, then. Yuuri felt relieved by the thought. He was too tired to go and skate tonight, so it would be nice to have some company to distract him.

"Well, I survived," Yuuri sighed when he came in. He closed the door behind him, but froze when he saw Phichit sit on his pallet with his back turned to him. "Everything all right, Phichit?"

"Why?" Phichit asked. His voice sounded off, its usual cheerfulness had been replaced by confusion, and a heavy feeling settled in Yuuri's stomach.

"Why what?" Yuuri said to stall for time, but even he could hear how transparent it sounded.

Phichit turned around, and Yuuri's heart stopped beating. Yuuri's bag was in his lap. Phichit lifted the skates in his hands. "Why do you have ice skates?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up Wednesday 7th of June!
> 
> Please forgive me for the anachronisms (I'm an archaeology student, I know it's a Sin) but it's a fairy tale in an indeterminate time so anything is possible, right?
> 
> Anyway... You're always welcome to come and say hi on [tumblr](https://skating-husbands.tumblr.com)! :D
> 
> And don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'd love to hear what you think! <3


	3. Blood as Pure as Porcelain

"Why do you have ice skates?"

_This is it._

"Why are you going through my stuff?" Yuuri was stalling for time, he knew it, but maybe then his legs would finally stop shaking. Maybe then he would know what to do, because how on earth could a mere scullion like him justify having ice skates that only belonged to royalty.

"I saw something shining when I came in." Yuuri inwardly scolded himself for throwing off the blankets so carelessly in his haste that morning. "I was just wondering maybe you had... You know after we went to the silversmith yesterday-"

Yuuri blinked in surprise. "Wait. You thought I had stolen something?" His voice was soft, his eyes unbelieving. Did Phichit think he was that desperate? Was that what Phichit really thought of him? Just another hopeless case, another poor scavenger who had turned into a common thief? Was that how he talked about him with other servants and guards?

Phichit’s eyes widened. "No, Yuuri, I don't mean- I was sure there would be a logical explanation! I would never think-" He sighed. Yuuri had never seen Phichit this close to being speechless. "I'm sorry I went through your stuff, but," he looked at the skates, then back at Yuuri, "how on earth did you get these?"

Yuuri let his breath escape slowly, trying to ground himself, trying to brace himself. He cast his eyes to the ground, balled his hands into fists.

"My father made them for me. He-" Yuuri paused for a moment. It felt wrong to tell this. Part of him wanted to keep the words inside, lock them up behind his tongue, but another part --the sensible part-- knew he had no other choice. "He used to make the ice skates for the royal family where I come from. When I was still a little boy, he made a pair for me as well. He knew it wasn't allowed, but he'd seen how in love I was with the skating of Prince Viktor and the other princes. How I looked up to them. So he taught me, and kept making ice skates for me when I grew up. But then something bad happened, and I-" Yuuri took a trembling breath. He nodded weakly at his skates and looked Phichit straight in the eyes. "It's the only thing from my family I have left."

Phichit was silent for a moment that seemed to drag out like a vast landscape, considering Yuuri with a furrowed brow. Yuuri shifted to his other foot as he waited for his friend to say something. He fought the urge to look away like he desperately wanted, half-convinced Phichit could read his every thought as if it were written on his face, but somehow he managed to hold the other man’s gaze without blinking.

"Do you still do it?" Phichit's voice was soft. Not accusing; curious.

"Yes," Yuuri admitted. "I found a lake in the woods. I go there every winter when the ice is thick enough."

Phichit nodded, once again falling silent.

"You can't tell anyone, Phichit,” Yuuri said to fill the unbearable silence. “Please. I don't know what they'll do to me if they find out. This has to be our secret."

It was dangerous, Yuuri knew it, but he didn't have a choice but to trust Phichit. He was forced to place his future in Phichit's hands and it made his stomach twist. It wasn’t necessarily the fact that it was Phichit that itched beneath his skin; it was the thought that he didn’t have full control anymore, that he didn’t know what might happen. It made him want to fold and fold in on himself until he could be hidden in a dark corner, ready to be forgotten. It made him want to run away.

"I have one condition," Phichit said, and Yuuri stared at him in surprise.

Phichit's eyes brightened and the cheerfulness had returned to his voice when he said: "Take me with you, I want to see it."

And so Yuuri took Phichit with him the following night. He had been nervous all day, and had taken on the heaviest tasks he could lay his hands on to keep his mind from fretting. But when they were making their way through the woods in silence, he was suspiciously calm. He knew what to do to make sure Phichit kept his secret. He had to impress him. So that was exactly what he was going to do.

"We're here," he said, hanging his bag and cloak on the branch as usual. While he was putting on his skates, Phichit cleared the snow from a tree stump and sat down.

Without saying a word, Yuuri skated to the middle of the ice as if he did nothing else. He took his starting pose, breathed in and out slowly, and closed his eyes. In his mind the music started playing and his arms moved. He had chosen King Viktor's very first short program, certain Phichit would recognise it.

If the sharp intake of breath he heard was anything to go by, he was right.

He skated along with the music in his mind, an absent smile on his lips, just like little Prince Viktor all those years ago. He changed the jump composition a little, adding a few quads since King Viktor hadn't been allowed to do any yet back then. Slowly, Yuuri forgot there was someone watching him. Until it was only him and the ice and a cherished memory.

He jolted when Phichit burst out in applause as soon as it was over.

"Yuuri, that was amazing!"

"Thank you," Yuuri mumbled, scratching the back of his head. He made his way back to Phichit and sat down beside him.

"And King Viktor's routine! That's very brave of you."

Was it? Yuuri shrugged. "It's from a long time ago."

Silence settled down around them in a reflection of the blanket of snow on the ground. They watched out over the ice, now deserted and like something from a fairy tale, both lost in their own thoughts.

"I understand it now, Yuuri," Phichit said eventually, granting him a warm, sideways smile. "Why you can't stay away. It's a part of who you are."

Yuuri's eyes widened fractionally. He stared at his skates.

"Can I come next time too? I mean, when I have another day off."

"I’d like that,” Yuuri said, finding a small smile on his own lips as well, “But I'm afraid the ice is getting too thin. I even think this might be the last night I can skate this year." He couldn't quite keep the sadness out of his voice. He had known it was only for a winter, and next year there would be another one; it was ridiculous he was feeling disappointed.

"Oh," Phichit said, for the second day in a row rendered speechless.

Yuuri must have broken a record.

*****

The air got warmer. The snow melted. Flowers bloomed and trees grew leaves again. Birds chirped them awake in the morning and sang them to sleep in the evening. Nature was coming to life again, as beautiful as ever, but Yuuri found he couldn't enjoy it as much as he used to.

In the evening, when he was done scrubbing the floors, he often loitered around in the kitchens. He found solace in leftovers and food from the pantries he knew no one would miss. His coping system wasn't ideal, but he couldn't muster the energy to care.

Phichit still hadn't told anyone, fortunately. At least that had turned out well.

Days melted into each other and Yuuri was stuck in a never-ending cycle he desperately wanted to escape. But wherever he looked, he always seemed to be back where he started.

"This has to stop," Phichit declared one day during dinner when Yuuri was stuffing his second helping into his mouth. Or was it his third? He always lost count these days. His friend stood up and went to Seung-gil. Yuuri followed him with his eyes, the question what it was exactly that had to stop dying on his lips, and saw him gesturing and smiling, but couldn't make out the words that were being exchanged. He quickly turned his attention back to his plate when Seung-gil's eyes slid to him, his cheeks burning.

A couple of seconds later, Pichit returned. "Come with me."

"But I-"

"You've got the rest of the evening off. Come." His tone was peremptory, and Yuuri got up without saying another word. Even though Phichit's demeanour was commanding and determined, his eyes sparkled with a thrilling anticipation.

Yuuri didn't know if that was supposed to be reassuring.

"Sit," Phichit said to Yuuri as soon as they arrived in their hut. "You look miserable."

"Eh... thanks?" If Phichit was trying to cheer him up, he was doing a very poor job.

"I'm serious, Yuuri. You're all glum and sad lately. You've barely even smiled the past weeks! What is _that_? Stop it. You're not even trying," Phichit said when Yuuri smiled to prove him wrong, "At first I thought, maybe he's sad because of the memories coming back after telling me, he'll get over it. Just give him some space. But it's only getting worse, so I figured it must be the skating." Yuuri's eyes snapped to the door; his heart still skipped a beat when the word was said aloud, as if guards could come storming in any moment and arrest him. "And I kept thinking about how I could help you. And then it hit me! It's so simple, I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner. I'm a guard of the rink!"

Judging by the expectant look Phichit sent him, Yuuri suspected he had to say something. "Okay?"

"And I only have shifts at night," Phichit clarified further, and it dawned on Yuuri.

"You don't mean-" Phichit nodded. "No, Phichit, I can't do that! What if I get caught?"

"You won't. No one ever goes there at night, trust me, it's the most deserted place of the castle. And I'll be right at the door to make sure no one comes in."

This was crazy. Yuuri shouldn't even think about it. He should tell Phichit this was absurd, and say they should forget about this whole thing. He should just lie down, hide beneath his blankets and sleep for a week.

He certainly shouldn't ask: "How can you get me inside without Georgi noticing?"

Which he did.

"Don't worry about that, I've got plenty up my sleeve."

Yuuri wasn't really considering this, was he? It was the ice of the _King_. If anyone found out, he would definitely hang. Or worse.

But it was also the ice of _King Viktor_.

"Come on, Yuuri."

He could trust Phichit, couldn't he? Phichit had proven it by keeping his secret this long. If he said no one ever came there, no one did. Who could know better than him? And if he only did it once, surely no one would know. Maybe this was his only chance to ever skate on an actual rink again, he couldn't let this opportunity slip through his fingers, could he? Just once. A goodbye until next winter.

His defence was crumbling --not that it had stood a chance in the first place. He had been lost as soon as Phichit opened his mouth, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

He met his friend's eyes, and nodded with determination. "Let's do it."

*****

Yuuri had lost his mind. There was no other explanation for what he was about to do.

_How did it come to this?_

He was waiting for Phichit to whistle the signal, hiding around a corner in an abandoned hallway. His muscles were trembling with nerves. He focused on his breathing to calm himself; it didn't work. Every new minute of waiting was more excruciating than the last. His heart was racing at a rate that cost him at least four years of his life, maybe five. His muscles were taut, ready to snap, ready to run. He didn't know how Phichit planned on distracting Georgi, but maybe that was for the best. His mind conjured enough doom scenarios as it was.

Underneath the feeling that he was dying, there was something else, though. Excitement. A thrilling anticipation. The sense of a dream coming true.

He was going to skate on the rink of King Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri jolted at Phichit's whistle. He had to be fast now, but it felt like an infinity passed before he could command his legs to move. He tiptoed around the corner, ready to sink back into the shadows in an instant, but there was no one in sight except for his friend.

"Hurry," Phichit whispered hard, beckoning him.

"Thank you," Yuuri said softly before sneaking through the door.

Phichit smiled at him. "Good luck," he said, and closed the door between them.

_Good luck? Why would I need- No. Later._ He had more important matters to do now than dwell on the word choices of his friend.

He turned around to the room, and all the nerves and tension evaporated at the sight before him, almost as if they had never been there at all.

It was perfectly silent. A silence that can only exist when the whole world sleeps. The torches immersed the room in a soft glow that reminded Yuuri of eternity. Everything was this moment and the previous and the next. Everything was an escape and a destination. And then there was the ice and Yuuri's breath stilled in his lungs. He thought about centuries of princes and princesses, kings and queens skating on this ice. Centuries of stories and lives meeting one another in one place.

Standing there, he felt very small and insignificant. Fleeting and ephemeral in contrast to the unchanging ice. Unattainable, unknowable.

Was he really here?

He put on his skates on one of the cold marble benches, laced them tightly and made his way to the entrance. Once there, he hesitated for a moment, his foot dangling above the ice.

He exhaled slowly, letting the last of his worries slip away from him; if he was doing this, he wanted to _be_ there. Mind, body and heart. He wanted to savour every second of it so he could cherish the moment until next winter. Until the one after that, until he was old and grey, until he was nothing but dust. He lowered his foot.

It felt like coming home.

First, he did some laps to warm up, to get acquainted with the extensiveness of the ice again, the feel of it underneath his blades. His heart almost burst with the sheer joy of it.

After a couple of laps and a few simple jumps, he made his way to the middle of the rink. He closed his eyes, his face directed at the ground, one foot in front of the other, his arms relaxed by his sides. As the first tones of the music echoed in his mind, he lifted his face to the sky. His right arm followed and as he bent slightly through his knees, he spun around.

A voice sang in his head as he slid across the ice. He didn't understand the words, but he didn't need to. He had seen what the song meant, he had felt it, reverberating deep in his bones. They were feelings he could never explain in words, could only express through skating.

His body knew where to go, what to do. The routine was ingrained in his muscles from doing it over and over again on a small lake. Everything faded until nothing remained but the music in his head and the ice under his feet. He imagined another figure skating with him, purple suit jacket woven from the most precious fabric, sparkling with gemstones and gold, white shirt and black trousers, golden blades mirroring his silver ones. _Stay Close to Me_.

The music built and built, drowning out the rest of the world. He lost himself in the movements, the step sequence and jumps, barely registering that he landed them all. He allowed himself to let go, to pour everything he had into it, to not think for a minute and just feel. This was why he couldn't stop skating. Why he was still holding on to it so desperately despite everything that had happened. It was a part of him.

The music calmed down momentarily, before culminating in one final note. Yuuri spun and spun, one final combination spin, his skin too small to contain everything he was feeling.

And then it was over. Too soon, too sudden. He stood there, arms folded and lifted, staring at the ceiling. His breath was heavy, his cheeks burning. Little by little, he drifted back into reality, light-headed and dazed.

He nearly jolted out of his skin when someone clapped his hands behind him, slow and punctuated.

Horrified, he lowered his arms and turned around slowly. His eyes widened when he saw a man standing up from where he had been sitting in the entrance, his feet on the ice.

King Viktor.

Yuuri felt like throwing up, felt like fainting, felt like dying, but he fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ice.

"I- I'm sorry, your Majesty, It wasn't- I didn't intend to- Please forgive me." He wasn't making any sense. How could he possibly talk himself out of this? Nothing could justify him being there. No excuse could absolve him for what he had done.

"Who are you?" King Viktor’s voice was low and clear like the ice underneath Yuuri's skin, thick with an accent that sounded elegant coming from his lips.

"I'm one of the scullions, your Majesty," Yuuri said, the pause a tad too long, his voice trembling and his face still pressed to the freezing surface, but he didn’t feel the cold cutting into his skin.

"Who are you?" the King asked again. Yuuri's heart was hammering against his ribs, and he was certain King Viktor could hear it. He tried to search an answer, but his ears were buzzing with the panic climbing his throat.

"Look at me," the King said. There was no anger in his voice, no malice. His command sounded simple and innocent. A request.

Yuuri did as he was told, hoping the King wouldn't notice he was shaking. He forced himself to meet King Viktor's cold blue eyes and was surprised to see them sparkling. He couldn't tell if that was a good sign, though; the rest of his features were blank and didn't betray anything. "Stand up," he told him, and once again, Yuuri obeyed.

The King considered him for a while, one long, elegant finger pressed to his lips, and his brow furrowed in contemplation. Yuuri's skin itched beneath his gaze, but he tried not to let his discomfort show. King Viktor's eyes lingered on his skates, and Yuuri knew.

_It's over._

The realisation didn't enhance his panic, strangely enough. On the contrary, it smothered his fear and replaced it with an eerie calmness. Deep down, he had always known this moment would come, had always known he couldn't hide forever however much he wanted to. He wasn't ready, not really, but he was good at fooling himself.

King Viktor lifted his eyes to Yuuri's again, and Yuuri was already waiting to meet them. There was no use in hiding from the truth anymore.

_Who are you?_

Yuuri's voice was steady this time. He pushed his hair back in a reminder of how he used to wear it. "I'm the Runaway Prince."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, I will post every Wednesday and Saturday ~~because I'm way too impatient lol~~ , so next chapter will be up 10th of June. :)
> 
> [Drop by](https://skating-husbands.tumblr.com/post/160130308071/about) and/or leave a comment! :D Thanks for reading. <3


	4. Feel How the Winter Succumbs to the Spring

King Viktor would send him away. Back to his own country. He would let him stay until everything was ready for his journey, would give him a room, let him dine with him and the other royal residents, and treat him as a guest. King Viktor might be heartless, but he was still righteous and diplomatic; it wasn't his place to punish Yuuri.

_Or maybe it is. I used him, after all._

Yuuri didn't look away, at least no one could accuse him of that. He waited for the consideration on King Viktor's face to morph into disapproval and disgust. He waited for King Viktor to tell him what he thought of him, to chide him for being such a coward, for being such a disappointment.

King Viktor smiled.

It was a soft and warm smile, glowing like the torches around them. Yuuri was suddenly convinced he was hallucinating, and his brain was doing a very poor job trying to make it look real.

"Prince Katsuki Yuuri." Yuuri started at the first word, it had been a very long time since anyone had called him a prince. And the way King Viktor's voice curled itself around his name, sent warm shivers down his spine. There was something in his tone, something Yuuri couldn't place and didn't understand, like a secret he was expected to know.

His next words almost sent Yuuri in cardiac arrest, though: "From now on, I will be your coach!"

This wasn't a hallucination, Yuuri decided, even his mind couldn't make up something as ridiculous as this.

"You look different. I didn't recognise you at first," King Viktor went on, his warm smile had turned into a big and innocent one, and it faintly reminded Yuuri of a heart, "I think it's the hair, it's almost over your eyes --I liked it better the way you used to wear it. And of course there's your body: I won't teach you anything until you're back at the weight you had before you left. I'm so-"

"What?" Yuuri had finally figured out how to make his muscles move again.

"Well, don’t understand me wrong --you look fine--, but it isn’t quite the shape of an athlete, is it?" Still that wide, heart-shaped smile, one finger in the air.

"No, I didn't mean... My coach?"

King Viktor's eyes widened fractionally and his expression sobered. "Of course," he said after a pause.

Yuuri blinked at King Viktor, lost for words. Why was he doing this?

King Viktor's smile returned in full force, it was a little like staring into the sun. "I'll call on you when we'll begin." And with that, he turned around, ready to leave.

"Your Majesty," Yuuri called after him, not realising he had taken a step closer. King Viktor stopped right before stepping off the ice. Yuuri didn't know how to go on; his mind was whirling with everything he wanted to say, but he couldn't put any of it into words. "Thank you," he settled on, trying to convey in his tone everything he couldn't say.

King Viktor looked over his shoulder, that small smile back on his lips. Tender and private. Yuuri couldn't take his eyes away from it.

"Call me Viktor." His feet left the ice. He stooped to take his own skates from where they had been lying on the ground next to the rink, and Yuuri thought he could see his hand twitch and his body stiffen as he reached for them, but it was over so soon, he didn't know for sure.

King Viktor left without looking back.

*****

Yuuri was grateful Phichit's shift wasn't over yet. He didn't even glance at his friend when he left, he just got out of there as fast as he could. He wanted to be alone. Needed to be alone. He knew Phichit would want to talk when his shift was over, but Yuuri felt sick just thinking about it.

As soon as he entered the hut, he buried himself beneath the blankets. He didn't even bother to change into his nightshirt even though his clothes were sweaty and stuck to his skin. Instead, he pulled the thick fabric far over his head, and curled up with his bag and his skates still in his arms. Trying to protect them or trying to find solace in them he didn't know. It didn't really matter. As long as they were close to him.

_Most deserted place of the castle._ Phichit had said it so casually, so convincing. But Yuuri was certain he had known from the start. King Viktor had been dressed in his training gear, had had his skates with him. It clearly wasn't a one time thing, he probably went there every night for some extra training. Hours he craved for but wasn't allowed. Yuuri should have known. How many times had _he_ gone to the rink in secret when his insecurities had been drowning him again, back when he was still a prince? There hadn't been any guards at the rink in the castle where he used to live, but no one would ever deny King Viktor more time to skate. And as long as he didn't harm anyone, there was no reason for them to inform the Council either, was there? He was the King, after all.

Why had Phichit lied then? Was he hoping for Yuuri to be punished? So scandalised by a servant, a _scullion_ , who knew how to skate that he devised the most humiliating and terrible way for him to get caught?

It didn't sound like Phichit at all. Not the Phichit Yuuri knew, at least. Phichit with his unceasing cheerfulness, his everlasting enthusiasm, his willingness to help Yuuri whenever he needed him. Had that all been a lie as well? Or was it so easily cast aside? Was their friendship so easily cast aside?

Still, it didn't match up with Phichit's reaction after watching him skate on the lake. He had sounded so genuine, so sincere. Even when he had offered Yuuri to sneak him into the rink, he had seemed to be honestly concerned about his well-being.

But if not to punish him, why did he do it?

Yuuri's thoughts were fighting each other in a messy war, his feelings soon joining them.

It only worsened when his mind jumped to King Viktor. The way he had seen right through him, exposing his secret in an instant. Of course, the ice skates had been a big telltale, but still. Yuuri could have found them, couldn't he? Could have stolen them. How long had he even been sitting there? Had he seen the whole routine or just the end?

But even more bewildering was his reaction. King Viktor, the Heartless King and ice skating legend, wanted to coach him. Yuuri could still see his warm smile, still hear his soft 'of course' when Yuuri had asked for an explanation. Yuuri tried and tried to figure out the meaning behind the words, because there was nothing 'of course' about this. Nothing at all. Why was he letting him stay? Why was he letting him hide? Why was he _helping_ him?

It slowly dawned on Yuuri what it all implied, though. King Viktor becoming his coach. Not only was he going to be able to skate regularly, he was also going to skate with the man he had admired ever since he was a little boy. The man who had seemed so far away, so unreachable even when both of them had been princes.

_Call me Viktor._

But most importantly, he was going to skate with _Viktor_. On the very same ice.

And he realised that beneath the paralysing panic, there was something that kept his heart beating. Something as warm as Viktor's smile. 

It had been a long time since he had felt so much happiness.

*****

Somehow, Yuuri had fallen asleep.

When he woke up, the night before seemed distant and surreal. Like a dream losing its credibility in the morning light.

But however much Yuuri wanted to believe the careless dawn and the obliviousness it offered, to reduce the incident to desires and fears fusing together in his sleep, he couldn't. He was still in the clothes of the previous day, smelling stale and musty, and his limbs were still curled around his skates.

Carefully, he turned his head to peer at the other side of the room. A mob of black hair peeked out from underneath the blankets, and Yuuri's ears picked up the heavy breathing from the other pallet. Without taking his eyes off of the sleeping guard, Yuuri untangled himself from the blankets, grabbed the first clean clothes he could find, and left.

The sun was only just starting to paint the horizon in a faint shade of pink, so he still had some time before he was expected in the kitchens. He made his way to the bathing area, and was relieved to find it deserted. He would have to face other people eventually, but he thanked the gods for every extra minute of solitude.

He gasped as the freezing water poured over him. He shook his head to get the hair out of his eyes and shuddered as he refilled the bucket. He was grateful for the cold, though, it cleared the fog in his mind, leaving him more reasonable.

If the previous night really had happened --which it had--, then he was determined not to let the opportunity slip away from him. There was no use in dwelling in endless what if's and crushing reproaches. It was over, it was done, time to move on. And it had all turned out better than he would have ever dared to dream. Viktor had been so bright, so delighted. Almost as if it were a happy reunion instead of discovering a crime. As if Yuuri wasn't the most wanted person in the world.

Maybe it was dangerous to stay, but Yuuri understood it would be foolish to run away again. If he would leave, there was nothing stopping Viktor from informing Yuuri's parents that he had been there. It would give them a real lead on his location, something Yuuri had been so careful to deprive them of.

He emptied another bucket over his head to stop the guilt and fear from chewing at his insides, shoving them deep down and locking them away again.

*****

Three weeks passed before Yuuri heard anything from Viktor again. Three nail-gnawing weeks of waiting. Well, not only waiting of course. Yuuri used every spare moment to train. He ran endless routes around the grounds, climbed stairs and trees over and over again, faster every time, pushing his body to its limits. He did push-ups, exercises on his balance, and, if he found a deserted room, he picked up his ballet exercises again. He was relieved to find he was still flexible and strong through the chubbiness, even though he was sure Minako-sensei would have been livid if she had seen him like this.

But the intensive training paid off and he knew it wouldn't last long anymore. A warm feeling tingled in his limbs just thinking about it.

As for Phichit, Yuuri hadn't talked to him about what had happened. When they had seen each other at dinner the day after, Phichit had tried to broach the subject, but Yuuri had cut him off. Saying they should just forget about it and be grateful everything had worked out for the best. Phichit had looked like he wanted to say more, but Yuuri simply changed the subject. After some hesitation, Phichit jumped in, and they smoothly slid back into their old dynamics.

The three weeks had passed excruciatingly slowly. Even a single day seemed to drag on and on, stretching into extensive lengths just to annoy him. Only the prospect of what was lying at the end of the long wait kept him going.

And then one day a servant came from upstairs.

Yuuri's heart hammered in his chest and his breath quickened when he caught the servant speaking to Seung-gil Lee. He couldn't make out his words, but Seung-gil's voice burst through the room in disbelieving shock.

"He what?!"

Yuuri had never heard so much emotion in Seung-gil's voice before. The servant repeated his announcement, but it was still unintelligible to Yuuri's ears.

Seung-gil turned around brusquely and Yuuri quickly cast his eyes away, pretending to be too preoccupied with his task to have noticed what was happening a few metres away.

"Scullion." Seung-gil's voice was hard like the stone walls.

Yuuri saw fear in the servant's features as the servant was eyeing the cook. He seemed relieved when Yuuri joined them, glad to have another companion who looked less murderous.

The servant cleared his throat. "His Majesty the King summons you. Follow me." With a last glance at Seung-gil, the servant turned around again.

Before Yuuri could follow him however, a hand circled his upper arm in an iron grip. "I sure hope you're not in trouble, scullion," the chief cook hissed, terrifying even with that flat voice of his. "If so, I'll make sure you wish you've never been born."

With that, he shoved Yuuri away. Yuuri stumbled and hurried to follow the servant, chills running down his spine from Seung-gil's words. For a brief moment, Yuuri wondered if the cook would be horrified by his own behaviour towards Yuuri these passed years if he found out Yuuri was actually a prince.

Or maybe not. Yuuri wasn't very good at being a prince after all.

He caught up with the servant and the thoughts about the cook soon left him. _His Majesty the King summons you._ Now that it was finally happening, he could hardly believe it. He pinched his arm just to make sure he hadn't dozed off somewhere, and tried to repress the smile that was threatening to spill over his face.

Yuuri didn't completely grasp why Viktor was sending for him now, though. In the middle of the day. Wouldn't it be safer to practice at night? Hidden from the world? Or had he changed his mind and was he going to send Yuuri away after all?

The thought made his stomach drop and left a bitter taste on his tongue.

No, there was another explanation for this. There had to be.

The servant led him through coiling corridors without making conversation. Yuuri locked the burning questions away, the servant wouldn't know the answer anyway. For all he knew, Yuuri was just a scullion who had done something severe enough for the King to personally ask for him. Yuuri could almost feel the whispers travelling through the castle already.

Eventually, they arrived at a small door. The servant ushered Yuuri inside when Yuuri just stood there, staring at the wood.

It turned out to be a mere side door of a large room with a much greater door on the opposite side. The wood of the other door was clearly carved by the best craftsmen of the kingdom and painted with as much expertise and precision as the rest of the room. Yuuri was shocked by the abundance of the decoration, the affluence of every corner and every inch. The air smelled like fortunes.

It wasn't the most spectacular room of the castle, Yuuri knew. It wasn't even half as flamboyant as the great halls, ballrooms or the King's chambers. Not even anywhere near the opulence of the skating rink, but Yuuri had been too enchanted by the ice to have noticed it then. In another lifetime, even Yuuri himself had lived in more luxurious rooms than this one. But after wandering for so long, strolling from town to town, and living in the dark corridors of the kitchens, Yuuri had almost forgotten what it was like. To live like a prince. He felt out of place in his grimy clothes, even though something inside of him reminded him he belonged here.

"Yuuri!" He startled at hearing his name and his eyes snapped to the source of the sound. Too awestruck by the splendour of the walls and furniture and the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, Yuuri hadn't noticed the figures sitting to his right: a couple of musicians were seated in a semicircle, their eyes on him. Some of them smiled, others just stared.

They couldn't hold Yuuri's attention for long, though, he was drawn by the figure standing in front of them like a moth to a flame.

Viktor was dressed in rich blue fabrics covered with lace. His clothes were quite overdone and would look ridiculous on anyone else, but he wore them with such elegance --how they brought out his eyes and hair and pale skin-- that Yuuri found himself captivated.

Viktor was smiling at him. It looked different from the one at the rink three weeks ago, but Yuuri couldn't figure out why exactly.

"Come closer." Viktor beckoned him, and Yuuri snapped out of his dumbfounded state. "Sit," Viktor said as he seated himself on one of the two red chairs that were pulled opposite the small orchestra as if for a private performance. Yuuri sat down on the edge of the seat, afraid to leave dirty marks on the fabric.

With an encouraging smile, Viktor motioned for the musicians to begin. It started with the clever strings of a guitar and continued in a seducing violin melody. It was exciting and rousing, electrifying Yuuri and making his heart beat faster.

Viktor shifted next to him, and Yuuri felt his warm breath on his ear as he leaned in close. "I told them your father was a musician and you're gifted with an excellent ear for music as well as a beautiful voice." Viktor's low, accented voice in combination with the music burned Yuuri's skin. "They think you're the one who's going to sing for me during practice when they aren’t there to play." Yuuri was sure his face was as red as the chairs by now. "But this will be your song. I was thinking of using it for my own short program, but I think it will suit you better. It's called 'In Regards to Love: Eros'."

Yuuri's eyes widened. Eros. Sexual love. Why on earth would Viktor think it suited him? He was about as inexperienced as it could get. He didn't say anything, wary that the musicians would see through his cover as a scullion if he dared to open his mouth to the King. Instead, he nodded once and prayed that Viktor wouldn't notice his bewilderment.

He considered his past routines during the Grand Ball Festivals, trying to remember if any of them could have brought Viktor to that particular conclusion, but he was sure he had never done even a remotely seducing routine before.

The song was a masterpiece, though, and even with his inexperience, Yuuri understood what kind of Eros his performance would need to match the music. The question was however if he really had what it took.

The music culminated in a final, high-pitched violin string. Yuuri could feel it cutting through his skin, vibrating in his bones.

Without thinking, he burst into applause as soon as it was over, flushing when the orchestra stared at him in confusion. Viktor had started to clap along, though, and Yuuri was grateful for saving him from the embarrassment. However, when he turned his head to look at the man sitting next to him, he didn't find the smile around the other man's lips like he was expecting. Instead, Viktor was staring at the musicians without any expression at all, as if they hadn't just played one of the most intense and arousing songs Yuuri had ever heard.

"Thank you. That was lovely," Viktor told them, but even though his mouth curled in a polite smile, his voice sounded flat to Yuuri's ears. He stood up, and everyone else followed suit.

After motioning for the musicians to take their seats again, Viktor turned to Yuuri. "I will have someone to fetch you after lunch every day until you know it by heart. And I will meet you at the rink in a week. The usual time." He smiled at Yuuri, and Yuuri suddenly realised what was so off about it. How hadn't he noticed it sooner? It was as plain as day.

Last time Yuuri had seen him, his whole face had lit up with just a twist of his mouth, brightening to impossible degrees as his smile had widened. This time, it didn't even reach his eyes. They were still breathtaking and fiercely blue, but they were also cold and dull. A wall of ice Yuuri couldn't get a grip on.

"Yes, your Majesty. Thank you, your Majesty."

Viktor nodded, turned around, and Yuuri was left with a heavy feeling in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, let me know what you think! <3


	5. The Shadows on My Wall Don't Sleep

Every day after lunch, Yuuri listened to the musicians in an opulent room that reminded him of a previous life.

The small orchestra played the song over and over again. Sometimes they suddenly broke off to clean out mistakes Yuuri could barely hear, or repeated the same section in a loop until it had the right emphases on the right notes, until it conveyed the right mood and passion in the right measures. Until it was flawless. At first, Yuuri just sat there with his eyes closed, feeling and internalising every pluck of the strings, every clap and every pause, grateful that the musicians didn't seem to mind his presence during their rehearsal.

The violinist once asked him if he shouldn't sing along to practice, and Yuuri hastily sputtered that he didn't work that way. The musician eyed him for a second, but dropped the subject, and Yuuri inwardly sighed in relief.

After a couple of days, Yuuri felt surprisingly at ease in the musical sessions. The atmosphere between him and the musicians had slid into an easy companionship. And even though he didn't say much, he felt welcome nonetheless. After a while, Yuuri asked them cautiously if they could play this or that piece again that were still unclear in his mind. And after a surprised pause, they cheerfully obliged.

Every morning, he found himself happier than the last, looking forward to the afternoon, to enjoying the music instead of working until his hands were raw and his fingers ached. But most of all, he found himself more excited every morning because waking up meant he was another day closer to his meeting with Viktor and the ice. When he sat there in one of the red chairs, listening to the beautiful song, his mind often wandered to the beautiful man and what choreography he had in mind. Something fluttered in his stomach as he imagined scattered bits and pieces of skating he knew could never be anywhere near the brilliance of the actual choreography.

His limbs itched with impatience.

And then, after a week, the sun rose and the song of the birds had never sounded more beautiful. Yuuri all but jumped out of bed, thrilled and simmering with nerves that were half exhilarating and half excruciating. He flew through all his tasks, practically whistling while doing them, holding back the foolish smile that threatened to cling to his face. Seung-gil's glances told him he didn't do a very good job of it.

It still felt like an eternity before it was finally lunch time, and Yuuri was marching out of the kitchens even before the other servant had properly opened the door.

By now, he knew the song by heart. Knew it inside and outside, forwards and backwards. He could tell every subtlety, every nuance, every secret.

Maybe that's why he couldn't concentrate on the song that day. He managed to stay focused for one run-through, but was hopelessly distracted afterwards. He tried to hold on to his concentration for a while, but gave up eventually, staring at a painting of some very detailed flowers next to him and letting his mind drift to wherever it wanted to go.

Apparently, it desperately wanted to indulge in the darkest corners it could find.

_Do you really think you're good enough? To skate a routine of King Viktor Nikiforov himself? What if you just had an exceptional good day that night he saw you? Maybe you tricked him into thinking you are worth it, spending his energy in coaching you, wasting his time on you. He will be disappointed in you, when he finds out how mediocre you really are. How pathetic --you can't even land quads properly when you know someone is watching, can you? He will regret having ever met you. He will send you away and join the long list of people who loathe you, who think you are a poor excuse of a prince. He will send you away and he will hate you._

He jolted at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. He blinked rapidly as he looked up in the face of the violinist, and his lashes grew moist with unnoticed tears.

The musician stared at him in concern. "Are you okay?"

Yuuri lifted his glasses and rubbed the palm of his hand over his eyes. "Yes, fine. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." His voice didn't sound right. He avoided the musician's eyes. He felt the gazes of the others like stinging needles into his skin.

Too many. Too many eyes, too many people, too many opinions. His lungs were heavy behind his ribs, he wasn't strong enough to fill them with air anymore.

He had to get out. Get away from all these people and their eyes and their opinions. Get away from this room bearing down on him, reminding him too much of what a failure he was, what a coward.

He was a coward, he knew that. He was only good at running away.

So he stood up, and swayed on his feet, but the violinist grabbed his arm to steady him. He mumbled an apology, or he thought he did, he didn't know for sure. It didn't matter, he had to get out, get air.

He had no idea where he was going to, only that he had to keep going.

_He will hate you. Everyone hates you._

Yuuri wanted to scream, because of course he _knew_ it wasn't true, he had always known, but why couldn't he _feel_ it. His body was too numb for him to make it scream, though. Too overpowered by the thoughts in his head. His muscles didn't obey him anymore, they only knew how to run away.

Without knowing how he had gotten there, he had reached the hut, and was throwing his blankets to the ground. He reached out to grab his bag. He had to leave. Right now, right this moment. He couldn't-

His hand stilled in the air.

One of his ice skates had slipped out of his bag a little, and the silver blade was shining softly at him. It made him sit down, take both of the skates out, carefully, tenderly, and just watch them.

Even after so long, after four years of running and hiding, he hadn't thrown them away.

He had never meant to take them with him, being part of the reason he had run away in the first place. But something had made him reach for them. Grab them and stuff them in the bag. He had even left some food to make room for them. At several points he had been determined to leave them behind, dump them in a river or bury them deep beneath the ground, but he had never had the heart to actually do it.

His fingers ghosted over the surface, barely touching. The smooth heel, the worn laces, the cold blades. As familiar as his own skin. A tear fell on his hand as his fingertips traced the engraving on the inside of his left blade. Small and discreet, easily looked over, written in the language of his home country. _Prince Katsuki Yuuri_.

Three simple words. Not even special since every non-crown prince or princess had their name engraved on their skates. But they resonated through his fingers right to his heart, pumping them through his veins. He heard his mother's voice, his father's, saw them smiling at him with pride and love spilling out of their eyes. He heard his sister's voice, heard the fondness through the facade of indifference.

What had he done?

" _Oneesan, otousan, okaasan._ I'm sorry. I messed up."

A sob broke through the barricades he had constructed inside of him. He bit his lip to keep another one inside. His eyes were cringed shut as he hunched over, fingers white as he clutched the skates in his hands. What had he done?

Through the whirlwind of everything he was feeling, there was another voice curling itself around three simple words. Soft in the cold night air. Tender and relieved. Clear and grounding through the dark twists of Yuuri's thoughts. Like a lullaby for his mind.

The lead seeped out of his lungs and he could breathe again, his muscles slowly easing.

There was no excuse for his behaviour, for running away, for neglecting his responsibilities and abandoning everyone. For giving up. He knew he could never be forgiven, could probably never prove again that he was worthy of his title, of being a descendant of the Katsuki bloodline. But at least he could try and fight for the small sliver of dignity he could regain. Try to apologise to them even though they didn't have to forgive him. He owed his family that much.

And with Viktor's help, he maybe stood a chance.

He wiped the tears away and tightened the grip on his skates. He was done running.

*****

Viktor was already waiting in the middle of the rink when Yuuri was let in by Phichit and Georgi that night. His back was turned to Yuuri while his arms and hands were absentmindedly moving through pieces of choreography.

The small voice still hissing insecurities in the back of Yuuri's head was silenced completely when Viktor turned around at hearing the door shut and Yuuri found the wide smile back on the other man’s lips. His shoulders released tension he hadn't known was there.

"Yuuri," Viktor greeted him brightly. He promptly directed Yuuri to stand at the side. "I'll show you what I had in mind for you." His eyes sparkled boyishly as he took his starting pose.

"Make sure to imagine the music," Viktor reminded him. His tone made Yuuri's cheeks grow a little warmer, and Yuuri silently wished that Viktor wouldn't notice.

He nodded quickly.

His heart skipped several beats when Viktor's arms moved and he almost fainted as the other man _winked_ at him before skating off. The way his body moved and slid, muscles flexing beneath pale skin and fingers flicking and dancing seductively in the air. The way his half-lidded eyes were burning with desire and every movement radiated passion.

Yuuri was convinced he could get pregnant from watching this.

He was unable to look away, captivated by the figure gliding over the ice. Blue eyes often found his, making heat pool in the pit of his stomach. He had forgotten why he was there, what he was doing there. He didn't care. Viktor was skating and that was all that mattered.

But then it was over and Viktor was staring at him in expectation and Yuuri realised he had spaced out for a moment, thinking about pale skin and silver hair and muscles and thighs and blue eyes, and Viktor was obviously waiting for Yuuri to say something, had probably asked him a question, and oh gods, how did breathing go again?

Yuuri snapped out of it, flushing even more when he realised his mouth had been hanging open.

"It was beautiful," Yuuri said, sounding slightly out of breath for some reason.

"But..." Viktor skated over to where Yuuri was standing at the sideline.

"But... I-" Yuuri scratched the back of his head while he was thinking of the right way to put this "I don't know if I could ever do it so seductively," he blurted out.

"I see." Viktor considered him for a moment, and Yuuri tried not to squirm beneath his gaze.

"You just have to find your Eros, Yuuri." Viktor's voice was low, barely above a whisper. Yuuri's breath caught in his throat. "Maybe it helps if you think of an ex-girlfriend. A previous lover perhaps."

"I-I never had..." he faltered, already forgetting what he was trying to say, because he was too busy forgetting his own name. Since when was Viktor's face so close to his? He was so close Yuuri could smell the rich oils and perfumes on his skin, only the faintest bit mixed with sweat.

"Only you can find out what your true Eros is, Yuuri." His eyes darted to Yuuri's lips for a lingering second. "Tell me when you do, will you?" The small smile around Viktor's lips killed Yuuri.

Yuuri nodded after finding out how to rise from the dead --or maybe this was the afterlife--, and Viktor moved away. "Let's go over it together."

Yuuri stood there for a moment longer, dazed and unable to think straight through the haze of perfume in his mind. Eventually, he figured out how to move his muscles again, and put on his skates.

The routine was tough. It seemed easy when Viktor skated, as if it were nothing more than a morning walk, everything effortlessly flowing. But actually doing it turned out to be harder than Yuuri had expected. He was so preoccupied with the technique and choreography that he couldn't even begin to wonder what Eros meant for him, let alone incorporate it in his performance.

He allowed himself some breathing space, though. It had been a long time since he had been taught a new choreography, especially one as challenging as this. First, he had to focus solely on the routine. The presentation would come later.

Even in the first training, Viktor was a relentless coach. He pointed out Yuuri's mistakes and told him where there was room for improvement, or which jumps he had to master before they could start practicing them in the overall program. However, Yuuri was a fast learner and a hard worker, and the whole room turned a little bit brighter every time he caught one of Viktor's few approving smiles.

Plus, Yuuri had the advantage of an outstanding stamina even though he had been out for so long.

"Let's call it a night, I'm exhausted," Viktor said, wiping the sweat from his brow and catching his breath. Yuuri felt tired as well, certainly because of the hard work he had done during the day, not to mention struggling through his mental breakdown earlier. But he could have done it at least one more time. He didn't really want to end the training yet, he was enjoying himself way too much.

He didn't say any of that, though, because now they weren't skating any longer, he remembered who they were.

While he was taking off his skates on one of the benches, Viktor was still on the ice. He was leaning on the side of the rink, one hand supporting his chin, and watched Yuuri. Yuuri didn't know what to say, but the silence was comfortable enough for him not to mind.

After he was done, he stood up, not quite sure what to do next.

"Goodnight then," he tried while taking a hesitant step to the door.

Viktor looked up as if waking up from a reverie. He smiled at Yuuri, and his eyes were warm and bright. "Goodnight, Yuuri. I'll see you tomorrow."

A smile spread across his own face, his heart fluttering and relief lifting the weight from his lungs.

He nodded and headed out of the door.

Phichit raised his eyebrows when he saw Yuuri. Yuuri could almost see the avalanche of questions ready to collapse in Pichit's eyes, could feel them buzzing within him in an insatiable curiosity. Yuuri rolled his eyes at his friend, but it didn't have the desired effect because he couldn't seem to clear the foolish smile from his face.

He didn't catch the glance Georgi and Phichit exchanged behind his back.

*****

_Only you can find out what your true Eros is, Yuuri. Tell me when you do, will you? ___

__Yuuri had been struggling for days to find where his Eros could possibly be -- _what_ it could possibly be--, and still he was nowhere close to finding it. The frustration grew inside of him, boiling and vexing, because even though he was starting to master the routine, it was still lacking something fundamental._ _

__His movements turned jagged and aggressive as he kept failing to skate with the right feeling. Usually, his presentation always made up for what he lacked in technical skill. If he wasn't able to get even that right, how was he ever going to return as a prince? He had to be better than he had ever been before._ _

__He fell for what seemed to be the thousandth time that night, but he could barely break his fall and hit the ice hard. Apparently, it had looked very bad from an outsider's perspective, because Viktor was by his side in less than a second._ _

__"Yuuri, are you okay?"_ _

__"I'm fine," Yuuri grumbled, waving away Viktor's hands that were reaching out to inspect his head for bumps. "It was not as bad as it looked." Or maybe Yuuri was already too numb from the consistent falling to really feel it. He grabbed Viktor's outstretched hand to hoist himself up, and winced a little as he put weight on his ankle._ _

__Viktor eyed him suspiciously, still supporting Yuuri._ _

__Yuuri straightened his face and skated to the side of the rink as casually as he could. He grabbed the walls of the rink and pressed his forehead to the cool wood to catch his breath._ _

___Breathe, Yuuri._ _ _

__Viktor came to stand next to him, facing the other direction with his elbows on the barrier._ _

__"You have it in you, Yuuri, I'm certain of that. Have you tried thinking of an ex-lover yet?"_ _

__"What?!" Yuuri snapped his head to Viktor, immediately regretting his violent reaction. Horror shivered down his spine and he let his head fall back on the wood with a soft thud. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lash out."_ _

__There was a brief pause in which Yuuri could feel Viktor's eyes piercing his skin._ _

__"No, it’s my fault. I forgot you've never had a lover." Viktor turned his face away. "Then think of something that makes you lose all ability to think rationally, something that makes you lose control."_ _

__Something shifted inside of Yuuri, like a floodgate being pulled open. Like almost remembering a dream._ _

__And he didn't know why he said what he said, he honestly didn't, maybe he was subconsciously scared of what his mind really jumped to, or maybe he felt homesick like he sometimes did when he was tired, or maybe he was just hungry. He didn't know what possessed him when he exclaimed: "Katsudon!"_ _

__He froze._ _

__"Katsudon? What is that?" Viktor inquired curiously._ _

__Was this really happening?_ _

__"Yuuri?"_ _

__No taking it back now._ _

__"It's an eh... It's a traditional dish in Ohinn." His cheeks were on fire. He desperately wanted the ice to swallow him whole and never spit him out again._ _

__The silence that followed was excruciating. A part of Yuuri wanted to look at Viktor, to get a glimpse of the thoughts reflected in his expression, but the biggest part of him would rather eat glass._ _

__"Okay, then. Let's go with that." Viktor's voice sounded kind and amused, and Yuuri was eternally grateful to him for that, but he still very much wanted to disappear._ _

____

*****

Phichit laughed for ten minutes straight at hearing the story of Yuuri's embarrassing epiphany when his shift was over. Yuuri hadn't been able to catch sleep because the dreadful scene kept replaying in his head as soon as he closed his eyes, so he stayed up until Phichit was back.

"He must think I'm incredibly immature." Yuuri's voice was muffled in the fabric of his pillow.

Phichit didn't answer because he was too busy choking on his laughter. After a while, he came back to himself and apologised while wiping tears from his eyes.

Yuuri wasn't as angry with his friend as he pretended to be. If he was completely honest with himself, Phichit's convulsive laughter sobered the painful humiliation he was feeling. Yuuri even had a small smile of his own around his lips by the time Phichit was finished.

The silence that followed was easy and comfortable, and Yuuri slowly drifted off, the exhaustion finally taking over.

"It really makes you wonder if the stories are true, though, doesn't it?" Phichit mused, and Yuuri started back to full awakeness.

He turned his head to stare at Phichit in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"The way you talk about him. It's completely different from how I have ever seen him --not that that's anything to go by. But it's also completely different from any story I have ever heard about him, and I have heard _a lot_. I mean, he's always kind and considerate, but never as... as lively as you describe him to be? There always seems to be something missing, something vital and passionate. But not in your stories. He doesn't sound that heartless in your stories."

Heartless.

The word resonated through Yuuri in the rhythm of his own heart beating in his chest. He had never given it a moment's thought, too preoccupied with himself and what he had to do now his secret was exposed. With everything that had happened and had turned his world around, it had slipped his mind altogether. The little fact everyone knew, every kingdom, every hamlet, every child. King Viktor didn't have a heart, and he didn't feel love. He couldn't.

Something must have twisted the story along the way. Mouths too eager to intrigue and scandalize, to bind keen ears to their loose-lipped tongues. Now Yuuri had met Viktor, had seen him skate with passion dripping from his skin, the stories rung awfully wrong to him. Maybe Viktor's heart really was gone and his chest empty and hollow, but even then, Yuuri found himself unable to believe Viktor was incapable of feeling love. Not the Viktor he knew. It must have been someone's wild imagination running away with them that caused the rumour to spread, a nice touch of drama. Everyone craves tragedy after all.

But wasn't there always a ground of truth in every story? In every rumour? And what with Phichit's words that he didn't recognise Viktor in the way Yuuri spoke of him, that he had never seen Viktor like that?

Phichit bid him goodnight, but Yuuri was too caught up inside his own head to manage more than a vague mumbling in return. And even though he was exhausted, and hadn't been able to keep his eyes from dropping closed only a few minutes before, he was fully awake now. Something kept him from his sleep, gnawing on his insides until the fragile first beams of sunlight announced the new day.

*****

Against all odds, Yuuri's Eros improved with picturing katsudon in his mind. It still wasn't what it should be, but at least it was a beginning. Viktor seemed content as well to leave it at that for the time being, only once in a while instructing him to think more about the delicious food as it slipped into his mouth.

Yuuri was always uncharacteristically hungry afterwards.

But the hard work by day and the intensive training by night were taking its toll. The few hours Yuuri managed to sleep weren't nearly enough and he was so tired it was becoming dangerous. His eyelids were drooping closed every other minute and he was constantly dozing off, jerking awake by a sudden sound or startled by the sudden pull to a deeper sleep.

He almost fell asleep doing the laundry and got himself burned, fortunately being able to pull his hand away before any permanent damage was done. He almost got caught dozing off four times in a week, and had fallen face down in his dinner plate twice in one evening.

Seung-gil had seen it, and sent him off with an angry wave of his hand. "Get some sleep before you cause accidents in my kitchen."

Yuuri didn't even have the energy to pretend he minded. He answered the chief cook with a short nod and 'yes, sir', and headed off. He wasn't planning on sleeping, though. If he gave in now, he knew he wouldn't wake up in time for his training with Viktor, and he wouldn't want to miss that for any sleep in the world.

Once in his hut however, he found he didn't have anything to keep him busy. And his bed did look very warm and inviting. So much that it seemed rude to Yuuri to decline it. He was just going to lie down for a while. Not sleeping, just resting. Only for a couple of minutes and afterwards he could do some ballet exercises or go over the choreography. As long as he didn't close his eyes, nothing could go wrong.

Yuuri was a fool to believe himself.

He woke up when it was already pitch dark outside, and he knew it couldn't be anywhere near early nightfall. The air and the light had too much of a deep silent quality to them.

He cursed under his breath while he jumped out of bed and stormed out of his hut, grabbing his skates in an afterthought. He sprinted to the castle and through winding corridors and hallways as quickly as he could whilst still careful not to make too much sound.

He was panting by the time he reached the great doors. "Is he still inside?" he asked between breaths, trying to ignore Georgi glaring at him.

Phichit's eyes were apologetic and pitying and Yuuri's stomach dropped for a second, but then Phichit nodded and Yuuri hurried inside. His relief didn't last long at the sight of Viktor in the middle of the rink, though. He was just standing there, with his back turned to Yuuri. It felt a thousand times more ominous than that first night.

Viktor turned around at the sound of the door. "No one has ever kept me waiting this long," he said with a bright smile on his face which only made it worse.

Yuuri fell to his knees and pressed his palms together in apology. "I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

Viktor enjoyed Yuuri's moment of shame a moment longer before telling him to stand up and put on his skates so they could use the little time they had left to the fullest.

Not even twenty minutes later, Viktor told Yuuri to stop. Which Yuuri didn't hear at first, too distracted by nothing in particular and everything all at once. When Yuuri did hear it the second time, he looked at Viktor questioningly, it wasn't time yet, was it?

"Let's take a break," Viktor simply said. Yuuri wanted to protest, but changed his mind as soon as the thought occured.

Instead of leaving the rink and going to sit on one of the benches, Viktor skated to the side and lowered himself on the ice. Yuuri followed hesitantly and sat down beside him, the aching in the muscles of his legs instantly easing.

The torches were already burning low, leaving the room darker than usual. But even though the majority of the space around the rink was shrouded in darkness, Yuuri felt strangely sheltered and protected. A safe harbour he desperately needed. A small refuge where he could try and pretend the outside world didn't exist.

"Something is bothering you." Yuuri met Viktor's eyes in surprise. Viktor answered it with a small smile. "I can tell by your skating, and you tend to flub your jumps when there's something on your mind."

Yuuri stared at the other man for a moment longer, oddly touched by the fact Viktor noticed such things. He averted his eyes not soon after, directing them to the ice beneath his feet and wrapping his arms around his knees. He guessed Viktor was right. His heart hadn't been in it today, and not only because he was tired.

"What if it doesn't work, Viktor?" His voice was barely audible.

"I'm sure you will find your Eros, Yuuri. You almost have-"

"No, it's not only that." Yuuri sighed quietly. "I haven't told you this, but I have decided to come back and use this routine for my return." Yuuri could feel Viktor stiffen slightly beside him, something changing in the air around them. But he didn't look at him to see the expression painted on his face, too afraid he would lose the nerve to go on if he did so. "But what if I can't do it? I can't fail again, Viktor, I just can't."

Viktor didn't say anything, but Yuuri didn't expect him to. Instead, he felt Viktor's steady eyes on him and the heat of his body close to his own. Reminding him someone was there, someone was listening.

"Do you know why I ran away?" Yuuri's voice was so soft he wasn't certain Viktor could actually hear him. "I was so scared. That last horrible Grand Ball Festival. I thought the nerves would eat me alive. My whole body was trembling, I felt sick. I was drifting in and out of reality, drowning somewhere in the middle of nowhere and not being able to swim back to shore. And wave after wave of panic attacks kept crushing down on me. I don't know if you remember, but despite everything I managed to perform a decent short program. I had done better than I had ever dared to dream. That only made it worse, though. People kept congratulating me, kept telling me how hard they were looking forward to my free skate --where it really counts. All those people expecting so much. All those people believing in me...

"And then the day between the short program and the free skate, my-" He took a shuddering breath and blinked his eyes to the ceiling a couple of times, "my horse died. And it was my fault. I mean, it was a long time coming; his health had never been good to begin with, and it had been getting worse for a while, so in a way I had been saying goodbye to him for a long time. But I still took him with me even though I knew travelling overseas would be too hard on him. I just- _needed_ him there. Because sometimes he is the only one that can pull me through when my anxiety takes over. Or he was.

"He wasn't doing well by the time we arrived here, but the healer said he would make it. My parents had asked him to tell that to me. So I wouldn't worry about it before I had to take to the ice. But everything went faster than they had anticipated, and he died the same evening. I didn't begrudge them for lying to me, I understood why they had done it. And if I am completely honest, I had known deep down that he wouldn't get better anymore. But it was still painful to see him go, especially considering that I was the one-" he faltered, the words stuck in his throat.

He took a deep breath through his nose and continued. "My free skate was horrible. I let myself down, my family, everyone. All those people believing in me. It felt like the final proof that I was never going to be good enough. Not as a son or a brother or a prince. And I was convinced they would be better off without me disappointing them, without me shaming the family name." The overwhelming guilt pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He buried his face in his hands. "And then I ran away and made everything worse. And now everyone knows how weak I am."

"No one thinks you're weak, Yuuri." Yuuri was startled by the sound of Viktor's voice, soft in the darkness around them. When his blurred eyes found the other man's, they were understanding and unjudging underneath a thin veil of sadness. And behind that, there was even more Yuuri couldn't even begin to understand or try to comprehend.

"No one has ever thought that," Viktor added in a low voice. "And yes, maybe running away wasn't the best thing to do, but what's important is that you're returning and that you'll be ready once you do. I, for one, know you will be the best prince Ohinn and many other kingdoms have ever seen." Viktor smiled and Yuuri had to look away because his heart was overflowing with the most unfamiliar things. "Everyone makes mistakes Yuuri, but I'm sure this is one anyone would gladly forgive you for. Even all those fussy old men of the Grand Council who wouldn't even be able to tie a pair of skates if their life depended on it."

Yuuri felt his lips curl into a smile as he wiped away the tears gathering at Viktor's words.

Viktor stood up and reached out his hand to Yuuri. Yuuri gladly accepted it, only now feeling how numb his behind had grown because of the freezing ice. He felt like an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He hadn't meant to spill everything out like this, but once he had started, he couldn't seem to hold it back anymore. The fatigue was probably partially responsible for his emotional outburst.

Yuuri expected them to return to skating. But Viktor wrapped his arms around him and held him close instead. Yuuri was too stunned to move for a couple of seconds, but soon melted into the embrace and hugged Viktor back. He buried his face in Viktor's shoulder, and his nostrils filled with a sweetness that made the last remains of the heavy feeling seep out of his chest. He hadn't realised how much he had needed this.

"Let's make you into a prince again," Viktor told him softly. "I promised you, didn't I?"

Yuuri was puzzled for a moment because he couldn't remember Viktor promising any such thing to him. But maybe in all the chaos that had been his mind the night they met, he had missed something.

Viktor's strong arms tightened around Yuuri for a brief second before pulling away. But they didn't completely let go of each other for a while, hands still around wrists and faces still close enough to feel each other's breath.

_When I open up, he meets me where I am._

Looking into Viktor's eyes, Yuuri wondered how anyone could ever think he was heartless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer than usual, hope you enjoyed it. ^^ 
> 
> Don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'd love to hear what you think! <3


	6. In You I'm Lost

"What do you want for your free skate, Yuuri?" Viktor asked one night when Yuuri was removing his skates.

Yuuri's hands stilled on his laces. He had been pondering over his free skate for a while now, and he had an idea, but he was almost afraid of telling Viktor. He looked up at the other man still lingering on the ice as usual. The sight of him was enough to ease his worries and kindled the confidence inside of him.

"I'd like to compose something myself." Viktor lifted his head from where it had been resting on his hand, interest evident in his eyes as they glistened with surprise. "I was working on something before I… left, and I was planning to use it for the next Grand Ball Festival. I wanted it to be about my skating as a prince so far, but it was always lacking something, and I couldn't seem to find what was wrong. But I have figured it out now. What I didn't see back then, but was always there. What is still there. And I think it should be my theme for this year."

"And what is that?"

Yuuri flushed a little, but he refused to drop his gaze: "Love."

After a stunned pause, a warm smile broke through Viktor's face, and it made Yuuri's heart beat a little faster.

"That's the best theme," Viktor said, but Yuuri didn't understand why the blue in his eyes was tinged with sadness.

*****

Viktor sent a servant to collect Yuuri the following day. Yuuri couldn't hold back the big grin spreading over his face when he darted after him.

He wasn't surprised to find the room empty at his arrival. They had arranged it like this last night; Viktor was too busy with his royal duties, and Yuuri wanted to perfect the piece on his own anyway before playing it for anyone else. Still, there was a sting inside his chest when he opened the door and wasn't greeted by the bright, heart-shaped smile he had grown so fond of.

He ignored it and went to sit at the grand piano, let his fingers drift over the keys for a while, cold smoothness beneath his skin. He had gotten piano lessons for as long as he could remember, but it had been a long time since he had last played and he could only hope his hands still knew how to do it.

Instead of playing what he remembered of his original piece, he started with an easy warm up so his fingers could loosen up and his mind could get used again to concentrating on his two hands doing separate things. With surprising ease, he managed to get something decent out of the piano. A sigh of relief escaped him; he didn't know what he would have done if he had completely lost the skills he had worked so hard for.

He proceeded with another song, a little more challenging this time. He had never been the best player, and it never gave him the same wholesome feeling as skating did, but he had always enjoyed it. Often retreating to the piano when his sore legs and bruised feet had forced him to abandon the ice. Now, the same joy trickled into his fingertips and travelled along his arms to fill his whole body as he played.

Eventually, when the last note still rung in the air, he took a deep breath and played his own song. He was pleasantly surprised by how much he still remembered, obscure parts quickly cleared by muscle memory. 

However, that didn't mean it was any good. The song was flat and monotonous. It lacked energy and emotion and impact. It just wasn't quite... alive.

He broke it off in the middle by slamming his hands on the keys.

There was potential in the sequence of the chords, but he wasn't satisfied with how the rest had turned out. He stared at the keys for a while, as if they were going to play by themselves and compose a masterpiece for him.

They only stared back.

He sighed. This wasn't going to work.

He straightened his back. After floating his fingers over the keys for a couple of seconds, he positioned them for the first chord, and closed his eyes. 

_Don't think._

He pushed away every thought, stored them in boxes, locked them up and forced them out. Until only memories of love remained. The ice, his horse Vicchan, his family. Viktor.

When he opened his eyes, his fingers were already playing. It wasn't without trial and error, but at least he knew where he wanted to go. At least there was something guiding him. He wrote everything down on the parchment laid out for him, and slowly the piece was taking shape.

He was startled by a rap on the door. He turned around on the chair to see the servant standing in the small doorway.

"Dinner is ready." Yuuri could tell by the pull of his mouth that he didn't approve of a scullion coming upstairs so often; even touching, no, _playing_ the royal instruments. But Yuuri couldn't bring himself to care like he used to.

He nodded and slipped past the servant to go downstairs again. His stomach rumbled, reminding him how hungry he was. He had lost track of time entirely, too caught up in notes tumbling over each other.

New ideas came to him during dinner, and he hummed the song to himself absentmindedly while he finished the last of his chores that evening, unaware of curious eyes drifting his way and surprised ears lingering to listen.

When Viktor asked him that night how it went, he told him he would probably need one day more.

"Do I have to wait so long?" Viktor whined, but his mouth soon curled into a playful grin. "Can you sing it for me? Just a little part."

Yuuri's ears were burning. "N-No! You really don't want to hear me sing, I promise you." 

Viktor’s raised eyebrow didn’t believe him. 

"You'll just have to wait one more day."

Viktor sighed dramatically, but didn't push any further. "Do that salchow again for me, will you?"

After another afternoon of composing, Yuuri finished the piece. And the day after, the musicians were waiting for him again when he entered through the small side door. As was Viktor with his silver hair and flamboyant clothing. Warmth welled in Yuuri's heart at the sight of him.

Viktor nodded in acknowledgement at his arrival, but his smile was distant and oddly formal. Yuuri quickly shrugged off the confusion, though. Of course Viktor had to act detached in front of the orchestra, he couldn't give away Yuuri's secret. Their secret.

Viktor had told the musicians that he had noticed Yuuri's talents and would let Yuuri compose a possible song for his free skate. In cooperation with them, obviously, because Yuuri only knew how to play the piano and had little experience in composing as it was.

It had made Yuuri wonder what Viktor was doing for his own short program and free skate since the musicians believed the songs to be for him. Was he skating to the same songs with a different choreography? Had he arranged another orchestra? Yuuri had meant to ask him, but had forgotten about it by the time they had seen each other again.

The musicians looked excited as Yuuri went to sit at the piano, their expectation was almost tangible. The guitarist --who apparently also played the piano-- came to stand a little closer so he could observe Yuuri's fingers as he was the one who would actually play the piano part.

Yuuri swallowed his nerves away, focused on Viktor's presence behind him, and played. His fingers danced lightly over the keys in an elegant ballet, a choreography on its own.

When he was done, the room was completely silent. He looked up from the keys in alarm. Had it been that horrible? But surprise hit him when he saw the impressed expressions around him, stunned and dumbfounded.

Viktor was staring into the hearth, face turned away so Yuuri couldn't properly discern his features. It made his throat tighten.

"That was beautiful!" The sound of the violinist's voice made Yuuri tear his eyes away from Viktor. "I've already got so many ideas of what we can do with this."

"Me too," the guitarist/pianist joined in. "I would pick up the speed a little, and I will alter some parts to make it a little fuller. If that is all right with you, of course."

"Sure," Yuuri said hurriedly when the pianist regarded him. He trusted them to make it perfect.

"Could you play it one more time, please?" the pianist asked.

Yuuri nodded and started again.

"He is very talented indeed, your Majesty," Yuuri could hear the violinist say behind his back. "Who would know a mere scullion could hold so much potential."

"Yes." Viktor's voice was almost too low to hear. "He keeps surprising me."

*****

Not so long ago, Yuuri had been a scullion who turned into the Runaway Prince at sunset under the spell of the Heartless King himself.

Now, he was Yuuri, skating with Viktor in the darkness between the torches. It didn't matter who they were anymore, princes or kings or no one at all; the rest of the world couldn't reach them there, and they gladly forgot about everything except for each other and the ice beneath their blades. Even if it was just for a little while.

Sometimes they didn't work on Yuuri's Eros routine, fooling around or improvising ridiculous choreographies to make the other laugh instead. Feeding on the light in the other's eyes. Sometimes they barely skated at all, unable to stop talking because words never seemed to leave them when they were together. Addicted to each other's voice, addicted to each other's stories. Sometimes they stayed there --skating or talking-- until there was a knock on the door, warning them the sun would rise soon and the castle was about to wake up. Time slipping from them like sand through one's fingers.

Every night, it was a little harder to say goodbye.

Somewhere along the way, Yuuri realised katsudon wasn't his Eros. Maybe it had been, once upon a time. But now it wasn't anymore, and it hadn't been for a long time. 

The transition had gone unnoticed. If anyone asked him to pinpoint the exact moment, that moment of epiphany, Yuuri would have to disappoint them. But somewhere between the creases of the night, he had stopped skating for katsudon.

He dropped the endeavours to find his Eros in his masculinity as well, remembering how Minako-sensei used to dance and moving in more feminine ways instead, which made him much more comfortable and a thousand times more seductive.

And he knew it.

More importantly, he knew what effect it had on Viktor, and he wallowed in it. Savoured his blue eyes turning darker than usual, his breaths catching ever so slightly, his cheeks turning slightly pink. It made Yuuri's heart beat faster in return, racing, tripping over itself and pumping the adrenaline through his veins.

Fingers lingered on skin a little longer than necessary, bodies gravitated a little closer to each other with every breath, eyes stared into each other a little deeper until they were lost to the world forever.

_Do it._ They were telling each other in glances and touches and smiles. In breaths and silences and blades on the ice. In anything but words. _Make me yours._

But in the end it was the free skate that pulled them over the edge.

After a week of composing with the musicians and another two weeks of Viktor memorising it and devising a choreography, they had started to work on it.

It was hard and Yuuri failed and failed again to pull off all the jumps. There was always something, a fall, a hand touching down on the ice, a shaky landing.

He was standing at the side after yet another failed attempt, taking a large gulp from his flask of water. Viktor gave him space to work through his frustration and was skating seemingly aimlessly over the ice. Yuuri didn't recognise a choreography in his movements, they seemed to spill right out of his mind, thoughts translated by his body and flowing into one another.

Watching him washed away Yuuri's vexation. 

Viktor was beautiful. Lost in the swinging of his arms, the gliding of his feet, interrupted by flicking steps. His eyes were closed most of the time, only opening before taking off into graceful jumps. His skin seemed even paler than usual, but his cheeks and nose were dusted with a soft pink.

Yuuri thought about the words of the violinist one day during rehearsal: "It's an unusual choice of composition for his Majesty. He usually prefers something more dramatic."

It had made Yuuri think back on all the programs he had seen Viktor skate and it had suddenly stood out to him how sad they all were, how heart wrenching. Even the ones that seemed to be careless and joyful at first had an undertone of tragedy to them. The realisation made Yuuri's heart clench.

But Viktor looked different now. His expression was serene as he slid over the ice, his movements unhurried and peaceful. 

He opened his eyes and smiled as he caught Yuuri's. Yuuri felt a lump rising in his throat, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest. What had he ever done to deserve this?

Yuuri wanted for Viktor to never stop, but when Viktor skated towards him, he knew what to do.

He grabbed Viktor's shoulders and fixed him with his gaze. "Don't ever take your eyes off of me." 

Without waiting for Viktor's reply, he skated towards the middle of the rink. He paused for a moment, focusing on all the indescribable feelings in his chest, in his limbs, in his veins. He may not understand them, but he knew where they came from. Who they came from.

He smiled as he began to skate.

He flew through the choreography like never before. Effortless and free. Light and quick notes of a piano playing in his mind, carrying him through, helping him to bring the message across. All the while, he held the image of Viktor in his mind, of his flushed cheeks, his strong arms and legs as they moved across the ice, his smile when he looked at Yuuri.

The music calmed down for a moment and Yuuri slid over the ice gracefully in long movements. _This is where I met you. This is where you changed my life. Do you see how much you have taught me?_

As the music build again, Yuuri didn't think anymore. There was nothing in his mind except for the music and Viktor's laughter.

He prepared himself for the last jump. A different jump than the one they had agreed on. A jump he had never once landed before. He took off. He barely counted his spins, but knew there were enough. He had to touch a hand down on the ice, but it had gone better than he had expected. Landing it perfectly wasn't important now anyway.

And then, the last surprise. Instead of the end pose Viktor had planned for him, he touched one hand to his heart as the other reached out for the man he skated for. The man who made Yuuri's world a little brighter every day.

His chest was heaving as he caught his breath, looking down his arm to the figure at the side of the rink. He couldn't read Viktor's expression from this distance, and was almost afraid Viktor hadn't liked it, but then Viktor started skating towards him and Yuuri immediately took off to meet him in the middle, his arms wide open. 

Viktor didn't slow down when he reached Yuuri, knocking him over with the force of his embrace. Yuuri didn't notice, though, because Viktor's lips were on his as they fell on the ice together.

He stared at Viktor with wide eyes for a second after they broke apart, but soon he felt as if he had swallowed the sun. As if Viktor's lips had spilled the secret of happiness on his skin. He could see every detail of Viktor's face, every strand of silver hair, every fleck of darker blue in his eyes, and all of the tenderness in the pull of his mouth. 

Yuuri reached up to kiss Viktor again. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he wanted to feel it again, feel it for real. Viktor's lips were soft as clouds made in heaven. Yuuri felt light-headed as Viktor deepened the kiss, tongue darting lightly over Yuuri's lips. Yuuri could feel Viktor's mouth curl into a smile when Yuuri twitched slightly underneath him at the sensation. 

He felt dazed as Viktor pulled back --and a little offended that it was over already. But when Viktor stood up and reached his hand out to Yuuri, Yuuri realised he was still sprawled on the ice. 

He wasn't cold, though. Not at all.

He took Viktor's hand, but didn't let go after he had hauled himself up. Instead, he used it to pull Viktor closer again. Viktor seemed to have had the same idea as he was already closing in on Yuuri as well. Yuuri couldn't hold back the happy sigh as their mouths met again. Now he had tasted Viktor's lips, he couldn't get enough of them. He couldn't get enough of Viktor.

There was still too much distance between them, and Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor's neck to pull him even closer, feeling the warmth of his body through the layers of fabric. Viktor's arms tightened around Yuuri's waist in return. Yuuri opened his mouth beneath Viktor's and buried his hand in his short silver hair, grabbing a little too tightly as the sliding of Viktor's tongue against his gradually made him lose control.

Everything that had been building and building between them over the past months, came pouring out. Unstoppable now it was finally released. The kiss grew more heated with every second, more needy, more hungry. 

And then cold fingers gently touched his bare skin underneath his shirt and Yuuri forgot how to breathe, so he kissed Viktor more because that was all the air he would ever need anyway. 

Viktor's mouth moved to kiss its way along Yuuri's jaw, slow and sweet, and Yuuri was completely lost, caught in a dazed haze of happiness, Viktor's arms around him and his own hand tight in Viktor's hair the only things holding him up. 

It wasn't enough.

"Viktor," he said softly before he knew what he was doing. Viktor looked up at him and Yuuri almost whined at the loss of his mouth on his skin, but Viktor's dark eyes made him forget about that instantly. "Take me to your room," he breathed. It was bold and not like him to ask, as if his Eros was taking over now he had found it, but he couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't take one more second of being separated from Viktor. He felt like he was about to explode if he couldn't get closer to Viktor, couldn't feel every inch of his skin against his own.

The body against his stiffened. "No."

Yuuri felt like he was hit in the stomach. He could see his own hurt reflected in Viktor's eyes.

"I want to," Viktor added hastily when he saw it too, "gods, I want to. But I-" His voice sounded strangled as he searched for the right words. "I can't," he settled on. "I'm sorry."

Yuuri's fingertips brushed Viktor's cheek without him remembering removing his hand from his hair. Viktor's features were painted with something close to painful, and guilt stung in Yuuri's chest for asking and ruining their perfect moment. He desperately wanted to take the sadness from Viktor's eyes, wanted to see them sparkle again with that soft glow from before.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," Yuuri said. He knew it was still too complicated, still too messy with him being on the run and hiding as a scullion. But his dazed mind hadn't been able to think clearly anymore. “I think it’s the Eros rubbing off on me, I’m sorry Viktor.”

Viktor smiled, but it was too sad and too much like an apology and Yuuri kissed it to make it happy again. 

Viktor met his lips with such tenderness that Yuuri's heart ached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a kiss!! (ﾉ^∇^)ﾉﾟ
> 
> I'm terribly sorry, but due to my exams I won't be able to post twice a week for a while, so at least for the next three chapters I will post once a week every Saturday. So next chapter will be up June 24th.
> 
> As you may have noticed we're halfway through the chapters, but I promise you there is still a lot of word count to come, so don't worry! ;)
> 
> Don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts about this chapter, I'd love to hear them! <3


	7. Do You Know the Stranglehold Covering Their Eyes?

"A little low- Ah yes, right there," Viktor sighed as Yuuri's nimble fingers rubbed his shoulders.

Years of massaging his sister's shoulders and feet after intensive training had taught Yuuri all the tricks and secrets, had made him alert to every signal indicating whether he was rubbing too hard or not hard enough, which spots were tenser than the others and needed special attention. As Mari and he had grown older, those moments had become the only times they could be together as siblings without having to worry about etiquette, responsibilities or politics. Moments everything was plain and simple, and they could pretend they were ordinary people chatting about ordinary things. Moments that smelled faintly of a faraway childhood.

The nights with Viktor reminded him of those moments; because here too, they could pretend the outside world didn't exist. Sheltered in this safe drop of time, unaffected and unreachable by anything or anyone else.

Yuuri smiled when Viktor hung his head and sighed contentedly. He couldn't help himself and pressed a soft kiss to the base of his neck. He had to commit that spot to memory.

Since their first kiss, nothing had changed all that much. Except it had, but it didn't feel that way. It felt natural to kiss Viktor when he wanted to, to be kissed by him in return, it wasn't any different from breathing or walking or skating. At any moment they weren't skating, some part or other of their bodies were touching, or they were close enough to be within reach of each other. They had never agreed to it, hadn't even discussed it, but had fallen into it simultaneously, unconditionally.

That didn't mean Yuuri wasn't electrified by every touch and kiss, though. Viktor's closeness made his heart flutter, every smile made his knees weak, every locking of their eyes made his skin burn.

They hadn't done much else than kissing even though Yuuri could feel both their need and desire grow with each passing night. Hands roaming over skin, finding their ways underneath shirts more often than not, leaving burning trails, fingertips cautiously tracing waistbands, once or twice bravely slipping a little lower.

Yuuri had never again asked Viktor to take him to his chambers. Whatever reason Viktor had for rejecting Yuuri, Yuuri knew it was a grave one. Because Viktor longed for him at least as much as he did for Viktor; he saw him scowl and heard him groan in frustration as they had to break apart when things grew too heated, his skating turning always a little more aggressive afterwards.

Yuuri felt Viktor's muscles relax underneath his hands, and he quickly went over the previously sore spots again before giving a final squeeze in his shoulders.

"Feeling better?"

Viktor turned around and closed in on Yuuri who was sitting on the barrier. "Much better. You really have magical hands, Yuuri. And magical feet, and legs, and thighs." Viktor's hands followed the path of his words, climbing Yuuri's thighs, making the breath hitch in his lungs as they went higher. "And above all," Viktor continued with a smug grin, his eyes darting to Yuuri's mouth, "you have magical lips."

Yuuri grabbed the front of Viktor's shirt and pulled him in to show him just how magical they were.

Viktor laughed against Yuuri’s mouth, and squeezed his thighs. He quickly forgot about his smugness, though, because Yuuri had gained quite some skills with his tongue over the last few weeks, and more importantly, had learned what Viktor liked.

Soon, he had Viktor panting in his mouth, extracting little gasps when his teeth grazed Viktor's bottom lip. With a soft moan, Viktor took control of the kiss, and Yuuri buried his hands in Viktor's hair and pulled him closer, his own breath coming faster as well, but he refused to break the kiss to catch his breath.

Viktor's hand disappeared underneath Yuuri's shirt and Yuuri's head fell back with a soft gasp when clever fingers found his nipple. Viktor seized the opportunity to capture Yuuri's neck, sucking and licking in ways that drove Yuuri wild, in ways Yuuri was sure would leave marks. He wanted to wrap his legs around the other man to pull him even closer, but remembered his skates with their sharp blades just in time. He clutched at Viktor's shoulders instead, urging him closer, preventing him from pulling away even if he would have wanted to.

Viktor's fingertip traced circles around Yuuri's nipple, pinching every so often to make Yuuri squirm and gasp. Viktor's left hand abandoned his thigh and efficiently unbuttoned Yuuri's shirt. His mouth followed the trail of newly exposed skin, teeth grazing and hot breath on already overheated flesh.

Yuuri moaned when Viktor's tongue joined the fingers of his right hand, his own fingers digging themselves deeply into Viktor's shoulders. Viktor used light flicks of his tongue and teasing touches, showing Yuuri what he could get, but never giving him what he needed.

"Viktor," Yuuri panted, arching his back to get more friction. Viktor just smiled against his skin, but continued with the feather kisses that stood in stark contrast with the love bites on his neck.

His left hand had returned to Yuuri's thigh and inched closer and closer to Yuuri's hip, so slowly it was delicious and thrilling and excruciating at the same time.

_Yes, yes, yes. I need you there, Viktor._

Yuuri's moan was smothered in a sharp gasp as Viktor's hand palmed him through his trousers. When he opened his eyes again, dark eyes were only an inch from his, staring right into his soul. A whimper escaped Yuuri's lips.

Viktor's hand returned to the safe territory of his leg. Yuuri's chest was heaving, but Viktor was panting too, and it was unclear in the little space between their mouths which breath was whose. 

This was the moment they always broke off, that they pulled away and returned to skating even though they both secretly wanted to go on and never wanted to stop. Yuuri didn’t know anymore why they did it, didn’t even know anymore if there had been a reason at all, but what he did know was that he couldn’t bear the thought of Viktor pulling away now.

"Don't stop," Yuuri whispered. Viktor's breath stilled for a second, barely noticeable.

Yuuri held Viktor’s gaze when his hand travelled back up Yuuri’s thigh, tentatively, almost hesitantly. When it was close enough, Yuuri grinded into it, his mouth falling open a little as jolts of pleasure shot through his entire body. 

The sight of Yuuri seemed to be enough to dissolve Viktor’s remaining hesitation. He licked his lips, and bent through his knees, his fingers lingering on Yuuri's waistband, looking up at Yuuri with a question in his eyes.

Yuuri swallowed when Viktor's intentions became clear to him. He nodded and lifted his hips for Viktor to remove his trousers, his trembling arms barely supporting his weight.

Viktor took a moment to look at him. It was the first time Yuuri had ever been with anyone in this state, and he felt nerves taking the edge from his arousal. But when he looked at Viktor, he only saw admiration and love on his features.

Viktor pressed a soft kiss to Yuuri's tip, followed by a trail of his tongue along the underside, making Yuuri's nerves disappear, consumed by the new sensations. His hand grasped Viktor's hair when a wet heat circled him, and he cursed beneath his breath. Then Viktor started moving and all Yuuri could do was pant and tremble and bite back his moans, pulling at silver hair and concentrating on keeping his hips still.

When he felt the back of Viktor's throat, he looked down with a surprised gasp, which was entirely the wrong thing to do, because Viktor was looking up at him with those blue eyes of his and his mouth was very red and kiss-swollen and very wet with saliva and gods know what else and very much filled with Yuuri's cock. And then Viktor hummed around him and he could feel the vibrations course through his whole body.

He was only vaguely aware of the shout of Viktor's name echoing on the marble walls when he was lost to the world completely.

When he came back to himself, Viktor was wiping his hand over his mouth. It should have bothered Yuuri that he hadn't warned Viktor, but he couldn't seem to make his mind think of more than one thing at the same time. And right now, the only thing he could think about was to make Viktor feel as good as him.

He hauled Viktor up again, who almost lost his footing, and kissed him hard, ignoring the taste of himself on the other man's tongue. It was a sloppy kiss, but Viktor didn't seem to mind. He wrapped his arms tightly around Yuuri and pressed himself close.

Yuuri's hand dove in Viktor's trousers and Viktor moaned in his mouth when his fingers wrapped themselves around him. Yuuri didn't have any experience in pleasing others, but he used his massage skills and personal preferences to guide him through. Paying attention to every intake of breath, every flutter of Viktor's eyes, every sound escaping his red lips, soon learning what pulled Viktor closer and closer to the edge.

Yuuri kept kissing Viktor even when the other man forgot to return it and when his eyes grew hazy, too lost in the twists of Yuuri's hands.

"Yuuri, I'm-"

"Come on, Viktor. Come for me," Yuuri said, giving Viktor the push he needed.

Viktor stiffened, a soft, strangled sound escaping his throat, matching the almost pained expression on his face, his head thrown back in the low light of the torches.

Yuuri had never seen anything more beautiful.

He worked Viktor through, not minding the hot substance spilling on his fingers.

Viktor slumped against him with a smile on his lips. They stayed like that for a while, leaning heavily on each other with drowsiness, Yuuri's arms around Viktor's neck and Viktor's arms wrapped around Yuuri's waist, using one another as pillars to keep them upright.

The floral smell of Viktor's hair filled Yuuri's nostrils and he took a deep breath to fill his lungs with it. He didn't remember the last time he had felt so happy.

After a while, Viktor lifted his face from where it had been buried in Yuuri's shoulder and looked into Yuuri's eyes.

Yuuri's hand brushed the hair out of his face and he could almost cry with joy just by the sight of the other man. However, there was a frown appearing on Viktor's brow, and Yuuri blinked a couple of times to make sure it was really there.

He kissed it softly. "What's wrong, love?"

At hearing the word of endearment, Viktor's face broke open in a smile that could light up the whole world.

"Let me take you somewhere tomorrow."

Yuuri was too stunned to answer. Had he heard Viktor correctly? Or was he still so high on the release that he was starting to imagine things?

"I want to show you something," Viktor added. "And you can dine with me afterwards."

That brought Yuuri back to reality. "Dine with you? But what with the other servants?"

"I'll send them away. I'll say I want you to serve me."

"Seung-gil will never let me."

"Oh, he will." Viktor's eyes were twinkling, and even though Yuuri knew in his gut that it was doomed to go horribly wrong, that he should refuse or at least tell Viktor to think it through when he wasn’t in such a blissful state of mind, he felt warmth blooming in his chest at the thought. He wanted to spend time with Viktor, wanted to dine with him, to be with him whenever he could, he wanted it more than anything in the world. And how could he ever say no when Viktor was right there in his arms?

"All right, your Majesty," he said and kissed the other man with a smile.

*****

"He asked me to come and dine with him," Yuuri said later that night when Phichit and he were changing to go to sleep. Yuuri had been debating whether he should tell Phichit or not. Every part of his mind had been screaming at him to tell it, laying the words on his tongue in a way they simply had to roll off, but there was something in his gut that felt suspiciously like fear and kept the gate of his teeth locked.

When he glanced at Phichit from the corner of his eye, though, something dawned on him. Something that he had been suspecting for a long time, and maybe this was the moment to address it.

"Wow, you must be a really good scullion," Phichit said jokingly after a heartbeat pause.

"Don't, Phichit." Phichit looked up at Yuuri's serious tone, and Yuuri met him with a level gaze. He let the silence drag on for a couple of seconds, giving Phichit the opportunity to contradict him, to change the subject and keep pretending.

"You knew," Yuuri said at last, plainly. Not an accusation.

Phichit's eyes softened. "Of course."

It felt like a heavy weight was lifted from Yuuri's chest, a weight he hadn't even known was there.

"And you knew Viktor comes to the rink every night."

Phichit smiled guiltily, remembering how he had tricked Yuuri and how angry he had been afterwards. "Yes. I knew he would be my best shot at making you come back."

Yuuri paused for a moment. "You want me to come back?"

"Of course, Yuuri," Phichit said, almost as surprised as Yuuri had sounded. When Yuuri continued to stare at him in disbelief, Phichit's gaze changed, as if he was seeing Yuuri in a whole new light. "You really don't know what you're capable of, do you?" But he seemed to be talking to himself rather than Yuuri.

Yuuri didn't know what to say to that. How could he ever have given Phichit the impression he was capable of anything? Even if Phichit had already known he was a prince since he had discovered Yuuri's ice skates?

"Georgi was in on it, too," Phichit added, diverting Yuuri's thoughts. "The plan, I mean --he doesn't know who you really are. He was always going on and on about how King Viktor should find someone to spend his life with, someone to love. Which seems difficult when you are heartless, if you ask me. But Georgi, being the romantic he is, he truly believes the curse will be lifted when the King falls in love despite the absence of his heart. He says it will only take a true love's kiss, but well, I guess that's not true." The significant look Phichit gave Yuuri made Yuuri's ears burn, but he ignored it.

"I see," he simply said. A lot of things made sense now, how Phichit could 'take care' of Georgi not seeing him sneaking in for example --he had probably just been waiting down the hall for a couple of minutes, laughing with Phichit once he was inside. Or the fact that Phichit had wished him good luck right before entering.

The plan could have gone wrong in so many ways, though. Just thinking about it made a cold shiver run along Yuuri's spine. But faith had had mercy on him and everything had played out better than he could have ever dreamt.

"Thank you, Phichit," Yuuri said and meant it from the bottom of his heart.

*****

"You're taking my scullion _again_?" the chief cook asked.

"His Majesty's orders," the servant simply answered.

"What would the King want with anyone like him?" Disdain dripped thickly from his voice.

Yuuri decided to not take it personally; Seung-gil treated everyone who was ranked lower than him like this, especially scullions. Yuuri vainly thought that maybe it bothered Seung-gil so much because he was one of his hardest workers.

Or maybe not, he was Seung-gil after all.

The servant didn't answer anymore, and left as soon as Yuuri was within eyesight. He didn't tell Yuuri where they were going, but Yuuri hadn't expected him to. He never said anything to Yuuri if it wasn't necessary, obviously wanting to reduce their interaction to a bare minimum.

Yuuri was surprised when he did hear the sound of another voice in the dark corridors. "I may not like the chief cook, but I do agree with him." He was staring straight ahead, but Yuuri didn't need to see his face to know the contempt on his features. It was blatant in his voice, making it hard and sharp like the edge of a dagger.

Yuuri thought he would say something else, but apparently he wasn't worth wasting any more breath and they walked on in a strained silence.

The servant led Yuuri outside, and it was dawning on Yuuri where they were heading to. Excitement fluttered in his stomach along with curiosity, replacing Yuuri's unease at the servant's words.

"The King will be here shortly," the servant told him when they reached their destination, "I suggest you make yourself useful and help the stable boys clean out the stables while you are awaiting further orders."

Yuuri nodded and kept his head low until the servant made his way back to the castle. When he turned around, the smell of horses filled his nose with a warm glow of nostalgia.

He couldn't help but stroll around for a while before asking the stable boys where he could find the cleaning equipment, not able to let this chance slip through his fingers.

He loved horses. Always had. And it wasn't only the riding that he loved --although he enjoyed the wind in his hair and the strong muscles below him almost as much as he enjoyed ice skating--, he also loved their mere presence. They comforted him, calmed him even when the darkness crept out of the far corners of his mind and drowned out all the light.

He had been beyond himself with joy when he had gotten a horse of his own. His own mighty steed like every proper member of royalty. And a horse of the same breed and even from the same stables as Prince Viktor's horse no less!

He still remembered the first time his father had taken him to see his horse, only a foal back then, just like he had only been a little boy.

"Vicchan!" He had yelled, running towards him with outstretched arms, but Vicchan had backed away in fear at the sudden sound.

"Easy, Yuuri," his father had said with a smile in his voice, "he's a little shy of new people. He still has to get to know you. Here, give him this. Carefully, don't make him startle."

His father handed him a carrot and Yuuri took it with wide eyes.

With the carrot in his outstretched hand, he approached Vicchan cautiously, moving slowly and fluently without ever taking his eyes from the horse. He stopped when there was still some distance left between them, but close enough for Vicchan to recognise the orange thing in his hand as food.

Yuuri stood completely still as the seconds ticked away. After a while, Vicchan bridged the remaining distance and took the carrot from Yuuri's hand, making Yuuri giggle when warm lips tickled his fingers.

Vicchan chewed happily and allowed Yuuri to cautiously caress the soft brown hair on his neck.

"You don't have to be scared of me, Vicchan," Yuuri whispered, "I will take care of you."

There was a sad smile ghosting Yuuri's lips when he walked between the stables. Seeing the horses made his chest throb faintly with the memory of a lost friend.

He paused by the horses that weren't taken out of their box to exercise and ran his fingers along their noses. They were all fine animals, each and every one carefully bred for knights, princes and princesses, kings and queens. All of them perfectly combed and well maintained, their fur shining beautifully and their bodies strong and nurtured.

When he reached the last of the stables, he knew what he was about to see --who he was about to see--, but there was still a pang of pain in his chest at the sight of him. A painful moment of familiarity and recognition, of foolish surprise and naive hope.

It was extraordinary how much Makkachin and Vicchan looked alike. Only someone who had spent a lot of time with one of these horses, or if one could compare them when they were standing right next to each other, would be able to tell the differences. Makkachin was taller, for one, and the white spot on his forehead had a slightly different shape.

Makkachin was by far the finest horse in the stables even though it was clear he already had his best years behind him.

When he caught sight of Yuuri, he trotted over and Yuuri petted his forehead and his soft mane. Makkachin nuzzled the palm of his hand, and moved on to sniffle at Yuuri's shirt when he failed to find anything interesting.

Yuuri noticed a bucket with some vegetables not too far away, and plucked out a carrot. "Are you hungry?" He asked as he reached it out to Makkachin who happily took it, his teeth barely missing Yuuri's fingertips. It made Yuuri smile and he ran his hand along Makkachin's neck, feeling the strong muscles flexing beneath the fur.

"I see you are already acquainted."

Yuuri turned around, and his smile only widened at the sight of Viktor standing a couple of feet away. Makkachin had spotted him as well, because he neighed happily at the sight of his owner.

"He must really like you to take carrots from you," Viktor continued as he approached. "He usually only ever accepts apples." He petted his horse tenderly before turning to Yuuri, and quickly glanced around to make sure the coast was clear before he stole a chaste kiss.

Yuuri's heart fluttered. "He takes after his owner then."

Viktor pressed another quick kiss to Yuuri's mouth which only served to prove Yuuri's point.

Viktor then proceeded to call upon a stable boy to bring him Makkachin's saddle and bridle, but to Yuuri's surprise sent him away as soon as he had delivered the requested items.

"Do you always saddle him yourself?" Yuuri asked. It was common for a prince to sometimes saddle his horse himself, but it was unusual for a king to still make time to do so. Yuuri couldn't remember his father ever preparing his horse himself.

"I try to do so as often as I can. Which is pathetically little, unfortunately."

Still, his hands were nimble and precise as he saddled his horse, familiar with where every strap belonged and how much he had to tighten them for it to be comfortable for horse and rider at the same time, and Makkachin was ready in no time.

When they led Makkachin outside, there was a donkey waiting for them, just like the times Yuuri accompanied Phichit to the town. His stomach dropped at the sight, but he quickly pushed the disappointment away. Of course he couldn't ride an actual horse if he didn't want to blow his cover. The feeling was immediately replaced by guilt towards the donkey and Yuuri petted him to apologise. The donkey just stared straight ahead.

They mounted, and made their way to the extensive fields outside of the castle's walls. 

While they were riding, they chatted about everything and nothing at the same time, and Yuuri found himself content to just listen to the other man's stories, his rich voice dripping in Yuuri’s ears like honey made ever sweeter by his accent. He couldn't help but laugh and commented occasionally on something Viktor said, launching him into another stream of words.

From time to time, he glanced over at Viktor. His eyes were drawn to him like moths to a flame, but he never found the blue eyes already on him like he so often did at the rink. As he watched Viktor more closely while he was narrating about how he had met Prince Christophe Giacometti when he had still looked like an innocent little boy, Yuuri sensed something was off.

It was hard to figure out what it was exactly, but he remembered having the same uneasy feeling the first time Viktor had summoned him to the musicians' rehearsal, and how distant and cold his eyes had been even when he looked at Yuuri. 

Yuuri tried to see if they were as impassive as they had been then, but the height-difference combined with the fact that Viktor was --quite purposefully, Yuuri noticed now-- looking straight ahead, made it impossible for him to take a good look. His bangs weren't very helpful either.

Something else stood out to Yuuri as well now. His infinite chatter seemed strained, his voice a little too cheerful, his gestures a little too exaggerated. It was barely noticeable, but clear as day to Yuuri now he had noticed. Viktor was faking. He was wearing a joyful mask to hide something he didn't want Yuuri to see, didn't want him to know.

But what was he keeping from Yuuri? And why would he _want_ to conceal it from him?

Yuuri knew something was seriously wrong, sensed it like an ominous cloud hanging over them, standing between them. But he didn't know how he could make it disappear.

Why didn't Viktor trust him?

Viktor stopped suddenly, startling Yuuri out of his pondering. "This should be far enough," he said as he descended. He plucked a slice of apple out of the donkey's saddle bag and slipped it to Makkachin.

Yuuri looked around him in puzzlement, looking for a small building or anything else that was out of the ordinary, but he could only see the extensive fields for as far as his eyes could reach. "Far enough for what?"

"For you to take a ride of course."

Yuuri's mouth dropped open. "Take a ride?"

Viktor shot Yuuri a brief glance, and a small smile tugged at his lips. He fed the donkey a piece of apple as well, and gave Makkachin another one when he made a noise of disagreement.

"Yes, or is Makkachin too old for you? Because I can guarantee you, he still has the spirit of a foal."

A wide smile took over Yuuri's face and he momentarily forgot about his worries.

"You're serious?" he exclaimed excitedly as he descended the donkey.

"When am I not?" Viktor teased.

Yuuri laughed, and he didn't know any other way to show Viktor just how happy and grateful he was than throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him, so that was exactly what he did.

He felt Viktor's smile underneath his own, but the other man pulled away quickly.

"Come on, Makkachin will get impatient."

Yuuri didn't need to be told twice. He quickly mounted the horse and Viktor adjusted the stirrups to the right height. The smooth leather of the reins slipped familiarly between Yuuri's fingers, and sent shivers of anticipation through his arms to all of his muscles.

"Don't hold back, but make sure Makkachin can still walk home," Viktor said with a smile.

Yuuri smiled back and nodded. Then he dug his heels in Makkachin's sides and off they went.

Makkachin sure was still very agile and energetic for his age, and he flew seemingly effortlessly over the vast expanses of the parcel. Yuuri revelled in the feeling of strong muscles moving underneath his calves, the strain of his own muscles, the wind in his face that made his clothes blow behind him, the sound of hooves landing in rapid succession, pushing them ever onwards towards the horizon.

He felt free and alive like he only felt on the ice with Viktor. Careless in a way he couldn't even find at the rink. He was a bird sailing on the wind, soaring through the sky like nothing could ever reach him.

He wanted to ride on forever, until he found the edge of the earth, but he pulled the reins before Makkachin grew too tired, and petted his neck. "Good boy," he said, out of breath but laughing nonetheless. "Good boy."

He turned around in the saddle, and his eyes searched for Viktor. They had covered a greater distance than Yuuri had expected, and Viktor and the donkey were only a far away speck on the horizon.

Makkachin was breathing heavily underneath him, the exertion finally catching up with him. Yuuri spotted a meandering creek a little farther down and decided to let Makkachin rest there for a while before returning.

Once at the water, he dismounted and stretched his muscles. He would probably feel it the next day, certainly if his sore backside was anything to go by, but he couldn't care less. A content feeling had settled inside of him, leaving him calm and happy. The only thing that could have improved his joy would have been Viktor being there with him.

He stared at the hill again where he knew Viktor was waiting for him, trying to make out his figure.

"One day, we will ride together,” he said to the distance.

The sun was already descending by the time Yuuri and Makkachin had made their way back, coating the sky in orange and red that would soon fade into purple and black. Yuuri was walking beside Makkachin so Viktor could still ride him on their way back, but he was only holding the rein for show as Makkachin was following closely anyway.

Viktor stood up from where he had been sitting in the grass when they approached, holding a hand above his eyes to ward off the brightness of the sunset. He didn't say anything, just awaited them with a smile on his face as their figures drew near.

When Yuuri reached Viktor, he let the rein slip from his fingers and wrapped his arms around the other man. Yuuri felt him stiffen in surprise, but he only tightened his arms and eventually Viktor melted against him. Arms circled around his waist hesitantly and stiffly, as if they had forgotten how.

He held Viktor close, breathed in his familiar scent. He didn't entirely know why he was doing this; maybe because he wanted to thank Viktor, or show him how much he loved him, or tell him he knew. Maybe all of those reasons combined. Maybe some others he didn't even understand himself.

When they broke apart, Viktor had pasted the smile back on his face. It was meant to be a loving one, soft like one of the very first smiles he had ever granted Yuuri. But Yuuri could see it was strained at the edges, could see how it failed to fill the emptiness in his eyes.

He softly pressed a kiss to Viktor's cheek, before letting him go completely.

Viktor tried to keep up the cheerful demeanour, and he did a very good job, but now Yuuri knew, he couldn't be fooled anymore. He went along with it, though, laughing with him, smiling and chatting as if everything was how it should be. For Viktor's sake.

"Oh, I almost forgot: my cousin Yuri will join us for dinner," Viktor said casually when they were almost back at the castle.

Yuuri almost fell from his donkey. "What?"

"Yuri will eat dinner with us," Viktor repeated, seemingly oblivious to Yuuri's bewilderment.

Prince Yuri was only a teenager, not even sixteen yet, but people already whispered he was going to be the next Viktor Nikiforov. His talent was undeniable, he landed jumps as if it was his second nature and skated with a passion that was almost tangible, only strengthened by his fierce desire to be the best skater on the ice; it was clear to anyone who had seen him skate how he strived to one day surpass his older cousin, to prove he was a worthy heir to the throne should Viktor never have children. Yuuri had never actually met him, but he was said to be kind of a brat. Viktor often recounted how he had once again infuriated Yakov during training to the point that the poor coach was losing his hair prematurely --although Yuuri was sure Viktor had quite a part in that as well. But there was an unmistakable fondness seeping through every time Viktor was talking about him. It always warmed Yuuri’s heart.

"But he- I-" Yuuri shook his head and tried again, "does he know?"

Now Viktor did seem to catch up, and he smiled sheepishly. "Yes."

"Did you tell him?" Yuuri could hardly believe Viktor not keeping his secret. If even Phichit could keep his mouth shut...

"No, but he has his ways of finding out," Viktor answered, his brow furrowed as if thinking about something inconvenient. "But I promise you he won't tell anyone."

"How are you so sure?"

"Because I choreographed his short program as hush money," Viktor simply said with a dazzling smile, and Yuuri couldn't help but laugh.

*****

Yuuri was sure the pirozhki would have tasted better if there hadn't been a very blond and very angry teenager glaring at him from the other side of the table.

The other Yuri had barely said a word, and the ones he had said were coldly directed at Viktor. Yuri was a prince and was well raised, so he hadn't commented on Yuuri's presence, but when he had looked Yuuri up and down, his dirty scullion clothes in stark contrast with the rich fabrics of the two cousins, his distaste was clear in the set of his eyebrows and the slight downwards pull of his mouth.

And the fact that his eyes were shooting daggers at Yuuri while they were eating didn't really make Yuuri feel any better.

Yuuri tried to ignore it, and wisely pretended to be preoccupied by his food even though it was hard to swallow when the boy's eyes were piercing holes through his skin.

The only sound in the room was the clatter of cutlery against plates and the fire crackling in the hearth. Viktor's waterfall of words had ceased during dinner, because of exhaustion after a long day or because he was just enjoying his food, Yuuri didn't know. He had secretly hoped Viktor's babbling would distract Yuri from his presence, but the few attempts at small talk from Viktor's side had been met with curt responses and careless shrugs, and Viktor soon abandoned his endeavours to pick up a conversation.

Yuuri glanced over at Viktor, and found the other man's eyes on him for what seemed to be the first time that day. Not as explicit and rude as Yuri's, but intense nonetheless. There was a small crease between his eyebrows which gave him an almost puzzled look as if he was trying to figure out something complicated, a riddle that needed to be solved. Yuuri wanted to ask what he was thinking, but Prince Yuri's presence stifled the words in his throat, and he cast his eyes down to his own plate again.

"So, Yuri," Viktor said eventually, and they both turned their heads to look at him. "This is too confusing. Yuri," Viktor pointed at his cousin, "from now on you are Yurio."

"What? Why does my name have to change?"

"Yuuri is our guest." Viktor sounded unfazed by Yurio's fierce tone.

"He is our servant," Yurio commented stiffly.

Yuuri wanted to become one with the chair. He had looked forward to dining with Viktor once his initial worries had faded, but his romantic evening was turning out quite different from what he had imagined.

"How was your training?" Viktor asked, ignoring Yurio's remark completely. "Has Yakov approved of your idea?"

At least, ice skating seemed to peek Yurio's interest. "Yes. I had to convince him, but in the end he agreed to it."

Viktor smirked. "Well, I guess there are still some miracles left in this world."

"I would have done it anyway, and he knew it."

"What did Lilia say?"

They talked on about people Yuuri didn't know and choreographies he hadn't seen. He was grateful to be left out of it for a while, but he saw Viktor's eyes travel to him every now and then, and he smiled reassuringly to make clear it was all right.

Yurio seemed to have forgotten about his annoyance and lightened up when he talked about jumps and spins, and how he could improve them.

Yuuri listened carefully, but was distracted by a sparkle catching his eye. Viktor had brought his cup to his lips, and as his sleeve slipped down a little, something glinted from underneath. It was a bracelet, and Yuuri recognised it as the one he and Phichit had collected from the silversmith's that winter.

It was even more beautiful around Viktor's wrist. Yuuri couldn't take his eyes from it, how the colours of the gemstones seemed to dance when Viktor moved his wrist, how the silver befitted his pale skin.

An idea was forming itself in Yuuri's head, clouded and ill-defined at first, almost unseen, but steadily becoming clearer until suddenly, Yuuri couldn't think of anything else. Like a little cut that goes unnoticed and unfelt until your eyes fall on it and it suddenly seems to be stinging all the time.

It made his heart race with excitement, his limbs tingle in anticipation, and he could barely suppress a smile.

When he looked up again from where he had been trying to hide his excitement by watching his hands in his lap, Viktor's eyes were lingering on him, but they darted away quickly when Yuuri noticed.

"What's with that Leroy guy, by the way?" Yurio said suddenly, his mind making a leap Yuuri couldn't immediately follow. "I heard he wants to participate in the Grand Ball Festival as well." One corner of his mouth was pulled down in disapproval.

"You mean Duke Leroy?" Yuuri asked.

"His son," Viktor clarified. "He calls himself JJ, but I think his real name is Jean-Julien or something. His father supports his request, though, thinks it's a disgrace only royalty can participate since we don't do anything but drink and party while they are doing all the work for us according to them." An amused smile played around his lips. "He would never say it so explicitly, though. I heard they even have an ice rink of their own.”

Yurio snorted. "Pretentious bastards."

Yuuri doubted if it was just pretentiousness that was the problem, though. Maybe there was something much larger and much deeper at the bottom of this desire.

But he didn’t say anything about it, afraid that Yurio might fall silent again, because now Yurio had finally started to talk, he couldn't seem to stop. Over dessert --which Yuuri quickly went to collect from the kitchens-- the subject moved from the duke's son to rink mates and costumes, to memories of past Grand Ball Festivals and preparations for future ones, to Yurio's cat which proved the boy's ability to love and care very deeply for someone --and his ability to come up with very special names. Yuuri found himself growing to like him more and more, and he came to understand why Viktor was so fond of his cousin.

When they had finished, Yurio stood up. Despite Yuuri's new found appreciation of him, Yurio still didn't seem to have changed his mind about Yuuri, and his amiability from only seconds before was shaken off and replaced by his initial hostility, like changing a cloak. A heavy feeling settled in Yuuri's stomach. He had thought Yurio had warmed up to him as well, the boy had even let him participate in the conversation after a while, but apparently that had only been temporary. Yuuri couldn't blame him, though, in Yurio's eyes he was still the coward Runaway Prince after all. Even if Viktor had told him he was coaching Yuuri to make his return, Yurio obviously didn't deem it good enough to forgive him.

His eyes roamed over Yuuri one last time when he said something in a language Yuuri couldn't understand, but the words weren't meant for him even though he was clearly the subject. By the snarling sound of Yurio's voice, it wasn't too positive, and the fact that Viktor stiffened fractionally in the seat beside him only confirmed it.

Viktor's answer was short and cold.

They stared at each other, their gazes unrelenting and piercing, both too stubborn and too vain to look away first. Eventually, Yurio sighed and rolled his eyes with a last comment in Ussiran before making his way to the door. He turned around once more before leaving. "Goodnight, Viktor," he said and nodded politely at Viktor. Then he turned to Yuuri. "Goodnight, свинья."

By the sight of Yurio’s grin, Yuuri suspected he hadn’t called him anything nice.

He left.

"What did he say to you?" The question had already left Yuuri’s mouth before he knew, but he didn't regret asking it.

"Nothing. He doesn't know what he's talking about." Viktor didn't seem very troubled, and it somewhat eased Yuuri's worry. Although he didn't like that he still wasn't any wiser as to what had been said.

Viktor turned in his seat to face Yuuri, and looked straight into his eyes for the first time that whole day. Yuuri was taken aback for a moment. Usually, the blue was so vibrant and alive, willing to show Yuuri all there was inside of Viktor, everything he was feeling written on it as clear as daylight. But now his eyes were closed off and unreadable, not even a hint of ink or a sign of... anything. They were empty blue pits that seemed endless and inaccessible at the same time. Yuuri's heart clenched at the sight of them.

“Yuuri.”

That's why Yuuri didn't expect Viktor to say what he did, wouldn't have expected it in a thousand years.

"Come to my chambers with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter to make up for the longer wait!
> 
> For the people who are interested in what figure skating means exactly in this au, I made this [post](https://skating-husbands.tumblr.com/post/161520191936/figure-skating-and-royalty-in-with-all-my-heart) to clarify since it's maybe not as clear as I thought in the story (sorry about that) and there's some more detailed information about it as well. :)
> 
> Next chapter will be there next Saturday: 1st of July, so you'll have a whole week to Prepare Yourselves...
> 
> Please tell me what you think of this chapter, I'd love to hear it! <3


	8. In My Cold Arms (You Stay)

Maybe it had been the hand on his thigh. Maybe it had been the scent of perfumed oils in his nostrils. Maybe the emptiness in the other man's eyes and the need for Viktor to make him believe it wasn't real. Whatever it was that had possessed him, Yuuri found himself following Viktor's silver haired figure through dark corridors, tugged along by a cold hand holding his. Viktor led him through deserted passages, making sure they didn't encounter anyone on their way.

Yuuri's ears were filled with the heavy pounding of his heart pumping the blood through his veins. The skin of his hand was tingling where it touched Viktor's, sending little shivers through his limbs with every step. They assembled in his stomach in an impatient pool of anticipation, mixed with worry he pretended not to notice.

Maybe --perhaps, probably-- this wasn't a good idea, but Yuuri wasn't very good at good ideas lately anyway.

Viktor's fingers suddenly tightened around his, and Yuuri was firmly pushed against the wall, Viktor's hand already over his mouth to smother his surprised yelp. Yuuri kept himself perfectly still when he realised what was happening, not even moving his eyes to watch the torch walk past through the crossing hallway merely a few feet away.

But even if he had wanted to, he couldn't have taken his eyes off of Viktor who was looking down at him. The glow of the passing torch flickered over his smooth skin and painted it a deep orange. His eyes were dark and half-lidded, his hair fell over his forehead in beautiful strands of silver rain. Yuuri could feel Viktor’s breath ghosting over his face, could feel every inch of his chest pressed against his own, nothing between them but a few layers of fabric.

He was certain Viktor could feel his heartbeat. It was hammering against his ribs as if it had found a new home and desperately wanted to reach it.

When Viktor's lips curved into a sly smile, Yuuri forgot where they were or what they were doing. He swallowed.

The torch had passed and left them in the dark as the feeble candlelight of the corridors didn't quite reach their spot, but Viktor didn't move immediately. Instead brushing his thumb across Yuuri’s bottom lip, deliberate and slow, and his smile faded as he carefully followed the movement with his eyes.

Their icy blue snapped up when Yuuri's tongue darted out to touch his thumb. Only a whisper, only a promise of a touch, but enough for Viktor to take hold of his hand again and continue their way.

After some more dark corridors and winding stair cases, Viktor motioned for Yuuri to stay put. With a quick kiss to Yuuri's knuckles, he disappeared around the corner. Yuuri heard his low voice curling itself around syllables Yuuri couldn't decipher, followed by an equally unintelligible answer and the clinking of armour.

He jumped when someone ducked his head around the corner, thinking for a split second it was the guard, but hastily followed when Viktor beckoned him.

Once inside, Yuuri didn't even have the time to look around and take in the room before he was pinned to the heavy wooden door, its carved decoration pressing sharply into his back. Viktor's lips crashed on his, hard and demanding like Yuuri had never felt them before. Strong hands circled around his upper arms in an iron grip, a body pressed close just like in the corridor a couple of moments before.

Viktor seemed hungry, starved for Yuuri's touch, but even now he was touching him, kissing him, digging his fingers into his skin, it didn't seem to be enough. The kiss was rough and grew even rougher, and Yuuri couldn’t do anything but meet it with the same fierceness.

When he noticed Yuuri wanted to move his arms, Viktor's hands fell away, grabbing at his waist instead, pulling him closer. Yuuri buried his hands in Viktor's hair, and stood on his tiptoes to get better access to Viktor's mouth.

There was no space left between them and it was still too much. Viktor's hands were tugging at Yuuri's shirt until Yuuri told him to take it off, his words smothered in Viktor's mouth. He gasped when cold hands touched his skin, sliding and feeling every inch, making it burn. Yuuri bit Viktor's lip, hard, extracting a low rumble that reverberated through his own chest. The carvings of the door cut in his skin, undoubtedly leaving winding patterns on his back.

He moaned when Viktor slipped his leg between Yuuri's. Yuuri grinded down on it, not so different from their night at the rink. He did it again, harder this time, but if anything, it only enhanced his need and frustration. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

He wanted to feel Viktor. He _needed_ to feel Viktor. Every inch of him and more. He needed him like water, like air, like ice. But what he wanted even more was for Viktor to want him. To _need_ him.

"Viktor, take me to..." his voice wasn't working properly. He abandoned trying to finish the sentence, but Viktor understood him anyway. He lifted Yuuri in one smooth motion, and Yuuri instinctively wrapped his legs around the other man while he was carried to the bed.

The sheets were scarlet like the roses in the gardens of Ohinn, made of the finest silk and embroidered with threads of gold. But Yuuri was only faintly aware of the softness against the bare skin of his back when he fell on the bed; he was too busy pulling Viktor on top of him and capturing his mouth again.

Viktor clearly had other things in mind and soon left Yuuri's lips to trail the tip of his tongue down Yuuri's chest, feather light and teasing, making Yuuri writhe and gasp. Viktor kept going even when he encountered skin that was still concealed by fabric. He went lower still and mouthed Yuuri through his trousers.

A loud moan escaped Yuuri's throat, and his head fell back against the sheets, his trembling elbows giving out beneath him. His hand found Viktor's hair, and carded his fingers through the soft strands, pulling and tugging when Viktor's mouth sent jolts of pleasure through his body.

Yuuri was light-headed. He could hardly believe what was happening. Him lying there, in Viktor's chambers, on Viktor's bed. Viktor on top of him, enclosing him, surrounding him. He was everywhere, his hands, his fingers and oh gods his mouth, his mouth, his mouth.

Yuuri bucked his hips to get more friction, grunted in frustration when it still didn't have the desired effect. Viktor got the hint and quick fingers worked on the buttons of his trousers, pulling them off swiftly. Yuuri kicked them away, not caring where they landed.

"Don't," he said when Viktor settled between his legs again, and brought his mouth in dangerous proximity to Yuuri's hard length. "I- I won't last long that way."

Viktor paused for a moment, looking at Yuuri's cock as if debating whether or not he would listen to him. He licked his lips and Yuuri thought his words would be disregarded, but after a kiss and one slow, excruciating lick to his shaft, Viktor crawled back up so he was level with Yuuri again. Before Viktor had settled down properly, Yuuri pulled him down in a bruising kiss.

Viktor kissed him back, but something was missing, had been missing in every kiss and every touch that night. First only faintly, easy to ignore, but growing more and more prominent, imposing itself on Yuuri like a headache. He tried to ignore it, to deny it, but he couldn't do it anymore and it made him want to crawl out of his skin. He deepened the kiss, pulled Viktor even closer with fingers digging into his shoulders, tried to force him to answer his burning questions and insecurities, to return his exasperation.

He rolled them around so he was lying on top, earning a surprised gasp from Viktor. He sat up, pulling Viktor along without breaking the kiss, until he was straddling his lap, and rolled his hips. His stomach dropped when it confirmed what he had suspected.

This wasn’t real. He was dreaming; this was Viktor, this was both of them together.

Viktor knew it too, and sunk his teeth into Yuuri's lower lip to distract him, to keep pretending he was feeling the same things as Yuuri. Yuuri wanted to believe him, wanted to be swept away by the act Viktor was performing like he had done only moments before, wanted to be able to play his own part as well.

But this wasn’t supposed to be like this.

This was Viktor, this was both of them together.

The kiss was growing painful, not because of clashing teeth or bitten skin, but because Yuuri was feeling too much and Viktor was feeling nothing at all.

His fingers dug themselves deeper in Viktor's shoulders, but he was grabbing handfuls of fabric instead of the skin he needed.

He tugged at the laces of Viktor's jacket, loosening them with needy fingers. There was enough time for Viktor to stop him, to make an end to this and send Yuuri away if he wanted to, but despite a slight pause in the slide of his lips and the movements of his tongue, Viktor didn't react.

Yuuri grunted in frustration when the laces entangled themselves in each other and wouldn't give way beneath his fingers. He broke the kiss to see what the problem was, silently cursing Ussira's fashion. With a couple of firm jerks and pulls, he managed to push the jacket off of Viktor's shoulders. The clothes underneath were easier, and after he had taken them off together with the silver bracelets which he carefully laid down on the bedside table, only Viktor's shirt remained.

Now, Yuuri paused and looked at Viktor to make sure it was all right. But Viktor didn't meet his gaze and pulled the shirt over his head. Yuuri lowered his eyes to where marble skin was slowly revealing itself, lean muscles flexing underneath.

His breath stilled in his lungs.

Yuuri had always known it would be there. He had heard about it in countless of stories, but actually seeing it with his own eyes was heartbreaking.

It was right where one would expect it, in the middle of his chest, a little to the left. Its stark and lifeless white stood out even against Viktor's already pale skin, but what surprised Yuuri the most was its shape. One would expect magic to leave a clean trace, pure and delicate like the magic itself.

Viktor's scar wasn't. It bent and twisted in sharp lines and jagged edges where the flesh hadn't closed properly, all coming together in one central point like a deformed star.

_The Heartless King._

Yuuri watched as if from a distance when his fingertip hovered over it, not yet touching. His eyes flicked to Viktor, but Viktor's gaze was fixed on Yuuri's finger.

Viktor held himself perfectly still, his chest barely moving, his hands motionless on Yuuri's thighs. His downcast eyes made his long silver lashes fan out over his cheekbones. A marble statue, bathing in the pale moonlight that fell through the windows.

Yuuri touched the scar. Gently, tenderly. It was freezing cold like winter nights.

Carefully and slowly, he traced every icy line. They reminded him of trails left by ice skates.

_Viktor._

Yuuri bent over and pressed a soft kiss to Viktor's empty chest. He lingered for a second, frost seeping into his lips.

When he sat back up, Viktor's eyes were still averted.

"Look at me, Viktor," Yuuri said softly.

After a pause, Viktor did, and it made Yuuri's heart ache.

He cupped Viktor's face in his hands and kissed him deeply, deeper than any kiss they had shared that day. To fill the emptiness of their previous touches, to forget the coldness in Viktor's eyes. Yuuri poured everything he was feeling into it even though he didn't get any of it back. He poured and poured as he deepened the kiss until he was shaking.

He would have given him his own heart if he could.

He wrapped his arms around Viktor's shoulders, and felt Viktor's circling his waist. He pulled Viktor closer, closer, closer because he couldn't bear any more space between them, couldn't bear the thought of being only an inch apart.

Viktor's hand slipped between them and Yuuri sighed when long fingers circled him. His breath grew laboured when Viktor's hand started moving, forcing him to break the kiss. He closed his eyes, and buried his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck, panting and losing himself in the twists of Viktor's hand.

A steady breath ghosted the side of his face, his shoulder, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

"Viktor," Yuuri whispered, his voice catching slightly.

Viktor's hand followed the rhythm of Yuuri's thrusts, speeding up as he did, tightening and flexing and making Yuuri gasp and shiver.

Yuuri could feel everything building inside of him, building and building until he was almost bursting.

He lifted his head, took Viktor's free hand and held it against his own chest. "Do you feel it, Viktor?" he said in between breaths. Strands of silver hair brushed against his forehead. "It's all yours. It's all yours, Viktor."

His heart was beating Viktor's name over and over again, and Yuuri forgot every other word in the universe. It was the only word he would ever need. He repeated it with every thrust and every slide. Over and over again, until he didn't know anymore if he was whispering or shouting, didn't know anymore if he was even still breathing.

And then there was the sound of Viktor's voice, low and clear in Yuuri's ear, forming words he didn't understand, but the sound crept under his skin and pulled him over the edge. His shout was captured by Viktor's lips.

Viktor worked him through, never ceasing even when Yuuri's thrusts grew erratic and uncontrolled.

Afterwards, Yuuri was trembling in Viktor's arms, his panting the only sound disturbing the night surrounding them, and Viktor pressed a kiss right below his ear.

After a while, Viktor gently eased Yuuri on the soft sheets, and stood up to get a wet cloth from the bassin in the corner. After he had cleaned them up, he changed into his night shirt, and joined Yuuri, pulling the sheets over them. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor and held him close, the other man's head resting on his chest. He pressed a soft kiss on Viktor’s hair, and drifted off within seconds.

*****

He woke up to Viktor staring at him.

It took a moment for him to realise where he was exactly, the rich red sheets strange against his skin and the walls unfamiliar around him, but when he did, all the memories flooded back to him at once. Viktor's hands, Viktor's mouth, Viktor's chest.

The room was shrouded in darkness, the night and stars still watching over them through the windows. After his post-sleep disorientation had worn off, he focused on the man next to him. They were lying on their sides, facing each other, bodies close enough to feel each other's heat without touching.

Yuuri's heart swelled at the sight of Viktor, and despite everything, a smile curved his lips. He wished he could wake up next to Viktor every day, that Viktor could be the one he closed his eyes to every evening and the first thing to see again every morning.

He moved a little closer, and gently brushed Viktor's messy hair out of his face to get a better look at him. Viktor laid his hand on Yuuri's, and turned his head to kiss Yuuri's palm, his eyes closing briefly.

Viktor's voice was soft like the sheets on Yuuri's skin, like the velvet blue of the night sky outside. But his words felt like a sword through Yuuri's stomach. "You should go."

The smile fell from Yuuri's face. He searched Viktor's eyes for something, anything, contradicting his words. It was like looking for rain when there were no clouds. But then his eyes caught the white lines peeking from beneath the V-line of Viktor's night shirt, and the hurt subsided, replaced by a sadness that hurt in very different ways.

"Yes," he whispered, and pressed a lingering kiss to Viktor's forehead before slipping from beneath the sheets. He dressed quickly to escape the cold night air, and turned in the doorway to look at Viktor one more time. He had expected to find the other man's eyes on him, but found him gazing through the windows instead. Yuuri tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

He shut the door quietly behind him.

He didn't want to go to sleep again in his cold and empty bed, he would be tossing and turning anyway. So he took a detour on his way to the servants' quarters, wandering through the empty corridors to distract him.

Viktor had been right, he had to be back in his hut or the kitchens before the castle woke up, which wouldn't be too long so it was only safe to have left, but it had still hurt to hear him say the words. Even though Yuuri knew why he was acting the way he was, even though he knew it didn't have anything to do with him.

Somehow he had thought --hoped-- Viktor would be different when they woke up. That he would be cheerful and smiling and kissing Yuuri again with love spilling from his lively blue eyes, that he only turned cold and distant at night like so many other curses only manifested themselves when the sun disappeared, weakening as the night grew old. Or that maybe --and this Yuuri hardly dared to admit to himself-- his words the night before had lifted Viktor’s curse, had made him capable of feeling love again even without his heart. He should have known better.

Lost in thoughts, his legs had taken him to a large hall. It was eerily illuminated by the moonlight falling through the high windows, faintly reflected and scattered by the crystals of the chandelier above him.

Yuuri remembered them strolling through this room as they had made their way to dinner the day before, Viktor giving Yuuri the chance to admire the portraits of his predecessors aligning the walls.

Yuuri had watched every single one of them carefully, but had only paused in front of one. At the very end of the line, next to a large empty space that would soon be filled.

He halted on exactly the same spot. The man on the painting was looking straight ahead, uncaring of people staring at him. There was justice in his handsome features, and the set of his shoulders could convince you to trust him with your life, with your kingdom, made you believe he could take care of any problem. 

But it had been the blue of his eyes that had shocked Yuuri, their shape intimately familiar.

"My father," Viktor had said.

Yuuri had heard endless stories about Viktor's father and how the kingdom of Ussira had flourished under his reign. He himself had never met or even seen the King; he had been killed by thieves who tried to steal his son's heart before Yuuri was born, when Viktor himself had not even been a year old.

The longer Yuuri had looked, the more similarities he had discovered, the straight line of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, the shape of his ears. But there were a lot of differences as well, his dark hair being the most obvious, but also the thin lines of his lips, the softness of his cheekbones, his short neck.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri had said softly. "He was a good man and a great king."

He could still hear Viktor's answer, clear as if Viktor were standing right next to him. "No, he wasn't."

Yuuri wondered why Viktor would have said such a thing. Why he had said it so matter-of-factly, so indifferently, as if he was talking about someone from ages past or someone he had passed in the streets instead of his own father. The man whom everyone still loved and missed, whom children still looked up to when their parents told them stories about him. Stories about his glorious days as a prince, his infallible skating, his golden years as a king. And of course the tragedy of his death, way too soon, way too unexpected. How he had died protecting Viktor, given his own life to save his son's.

He was part of the reason why the people loved Viktor so much.

_No, he wasn't._

Yuuri stared at the man on the painting, trying to look behind the mask, to find out his secrets, waiting for the man to tell him what no one else knew. But the King stayed silent and kept staring at some bright, unexisting future.

*****

Yuuri was already working when the first kitchen maids trickled in. They paused for a moment when they caught sight of him before starting their own chores. Yuuri didn't even notice them glancing and staring.

When Seung-gil entered, he eyed Yuuri for a moment, but didn't say anything. Instead he dropped a bucket in front of Yuuri with more potatoes to peel. Yuuri proceeded to the new chore without blinking.

His thoughts were far away. With horses and red sheets and portraits of dead kings. With cold eyes and empty chests.

The hours melted together in scrubbing and cleaning and doing errands for others. "Oh, so you're staying today," Seung-gil said with a raised eyebrow when there hadn't appeared a servant after lunch.

"So it seems, sir," Yuuri answered and continued working.

He didn't stop to eat dinner, wouldn't be able to swallow even a single bite anyway; he had barely managed to keep his breakfast inside. He worked and worked until he was suddenly the only one left, scrubbing away at the already spotless floor.

When the castle had grown completely silent, he knew it was time. He went to the hut to get his skates and made his way back through the darkness. 

He squeezed out a smile when he reached Phichit and Georgi, but paused before opening the door, and stood there staring at the wood for a while. What if Viktor wasn't inside? They hadn't discussed whether the training would go through tonight, they hadn't discussed anything. What if Viktor didn't want to see him anymore now he knew? What if-

The door opened with a clicking sound, and Yuuri looked up in surprise. Phichit pushed the door open a little further for him, smiling encouragingly.

Yuuri stepped inside, and the weight of the sky fell from his shoulders when he saw a figure flying over the ice. 

Viktor hadn't noticed him yet, and Yuuri tiptoed closer, careful to stay in the dark. He didn't recognise the routine Viktor was skating. It was uncharacteristically restless and uncontrolled, his movements sharp and impatient. He was lost in a melody Yuuri couldn't hear, seeming to skate to the music his blades made on the ice.

Viktor was frantic. Feverish. Desperate. It made it even more impossible to look away.

It slowly dawned on Yuuri that he didn't recognise a routine because there wasn't one. Viktor was improvising it on the spot, he let his body lead the way, trusted it to know how to express what no spoken language in the world would ever can.

And Yuuri understood. Every move and every pause and every breath. The whole story Viktor was spinning before his eyes.

Viktor almost fell coming out of a quad loop, but regained his balance just in time and only had to touch a hand to the ice. But even that imperfection fit so flawlessly into everything else, as if it belonged there as much as every perfect take-off and every incredible landing.

He jumped into a spin, starting low on the ground and reaching up up up until his fingertips were stretched out high to the sky.

His skating eased once he came out of the spin, and slowly his pained expression, the crease between his eyebrows eased as well. Yuuri thought he could even see the corner of his mouth tugging upwards ever so slightly for a moment.

His breath caught in his lungs when he realised what Viktor was skating now.

It was Yuuri's routine.

His last short program, the one before he ruined everything. Before Vicchan died, before he messed up his free skate, before he broke and ran away.

As fierceful as Viktor had been skating only moments before, so soft and tender he was skating now. Elegant and vulnerable, delicate and fragile, yet powerful and strong. He came alive, like a flower blossoming after a hard winter, his skating a little lighter, a little brighter.

Yuuri couldn't stand there for even a second longer and he put on his skates. He hadn't know his cheeks were wet until a tear drop fell on his hand while he was tying his laces. He quickly wiped them dry and made his way to the ice.

Viktor didn't see him until Yuuri was skating right beside him. He almost stumbled in surprise, but Yuuri was there to catch him. He smiled at Viktor through the wetness that didn't want to leave his eyes. And Viktor smiled back with tears welling in his own eyes as well.

Together they changed the routine into a duet, weaving memories of older ones into it. They flew over the ice, no need to tell the other where to go or what to do next. Even when Viktor lifted Yuuri in the air, it felt like they had been doing this for years. They were like magnets drawn to each other, glued together, never taking their eyes from each other. Yuuri wanted nothing more than to skate duets with Viktor for the rest of his life.

Viktor's story of pain and loneliness that had become somewhat brighter now changed again. Into a story of two soulmates finding each other and never letting go again.

Yuuri could feel Viktor was growing tired, gods know how long he had been skating already, and with a light squeeze in his hand, he led them to an end pose. He cupped Viktor's face, and pressed their foreheads together. Viktor had placed one hand on Yuuri's waist, the other on the small of his back; Yuuri could feel them trembling.

There was no sound except for their heavy breaths passing between each other's mouths. They didn't move, lingering in the duet for a moment longer, savouring each other's touch as if they had been drowning and had finally reached the surface again.

Their breathing evened out and Yuuri drew back slightly to look into Viktor's eyes. He brushed the silver hair out of his face, just like he had done only hours before. Viktor wrapped his hand around Yuuri's again, his fingers slightly tighter than they had been that morning.

Viktor's eyes were bright and full of life. Shining and shimmering. Yuuri didn't mind there was sadness written between the lines of happiness and love, didn't mind there was hurt and pain. At least there was _something_.

"It's beneath the ice, isn't it?" Yuuri asked quietly.

Viktor didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

When Yuuri kissed Viktor, he felt a tear rolling between their lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... intense to write.
> 
> Let me know what you think, I'd love to hear it! :D <3
> 
> (Ps: congrats to the reader who won the bet against their friend, I hope you won something nice ;) )


	9. We're Lying on the Moon

When Yuuri asked Phichit to take him to town, he could see the questions rising in Phichit's eyes, could see them on the tip of his tongue. But he agreed without asking any of them.

"I've got an idea," Yuuri said in lieu of an explanation, and felt his cheeks grow warm. "It has to do with Viktor."

"I figured," Phichit answered with a knowing smile, which only deepened Yuuri's flush.

And so, two days later, they left for the town in the early morning.

They spent the first half of their journey exchanging the latest news and gossips about everyone but themselves or Viktor. About the stable boy that was sleeping with one of Lilia’s maids, about the secretary that didn't say anything besides 'everything used to be better', 'the youth is spoiling everything' or any variations thereof, each of them delivering their best impressions of him which Phichit clearly won. And eventually the conversation led to Georgi's breakup with Anya and how he was all glum and silent.

"I'm worried about him," Phichit said, "whenever I try to pick up a conversation to help him or to take his mind off it, he answers in one word sentences. Even in one syllable if he can."

"Maybe it's just his way of grieving," Yuuri suggested, "Maybe he just needs some time to process it."

"I don't know. It isn't like him. Not at all."

From everything Phichit had told Yuuri about Georgi in the past, it didn't ring true to Yuuri either. Contrary to himself, Georgi was very open with his emotions, and displayed them for all to see to the point of being lyrical and melodramatic. It seemed odd for Georgi to be all closed off now, but maybe this breakup had been too painful even for him to talk about it.

They were silent for a moment, and Yuuri's mind --as always-- wandered to Viktor. Since Yuuri had discovered his secret, something had shifted between them. Yuuri noticed how Viktor wasn't on edge anymore, something he hadn't even known until it was gone, how Viktor was more at ease and how he finally dropped the last layers of his carefully constructed mask when they were alone. It made them both happier, made them both light as feathers, made them feel as if nothing could stand between them anymore now the last wall separating them had crumbled down.

Or so it seemed, at least.

"Do you believe Georgi?" Yuuri asked his friend. "That the curse can be lifted by true love," he added hastily when he realised Phichit hadn't heard his train of thought.

Phichit mulled the question over for a while before answering. "I don't think so," he said carefully, almost apologising. "Otherwise it would have been lifted by now, don't you think?"

"Maybe it's not me." The words hurt on Yuuri's tongue like a lie.

Phichit turned his head to look at him sharply. "Please tell me you don't really believe that, Yuuri. If what you and Viktor have isn't true love, I don't know what is." He paused for a moment. "No, that's not it. Maybe you should consider the possibility that this curse really is unbreakable..."

"No curse is unbreakable," Yuuri said quite forcefully. The thought that Viktor had to spend the rest of his life with such an unbearable curse made him sick to his stomach. Joyful, wonderful, brilliant Viktor, passionate and loving and caring. Viktor, whose very _soul_ was made of love, but who wasn't allowed to carry it with him. "There has to be a way."

Phichit eyed him for a moment. "What changed your mind?"

"Changed my mind about what?"

"Him. The curse. It didn't seem to bother you this much before." It wasn't an accusation. Phichit's tone was genuine; he sounded worried.

Yuuri cast his eyes down to where his fingers were wrapped around the reins of the donkey. "That day he took me riding... when I dined with him and I- when I spent the night with him, I saw how much it makes him suffer." He looked back at the horizon, and told Phichit what had happened that day in more detail, what he had seen. How Viktor's smiles had been forced and strained, how his eyes had been cold and distant, how he had seen the scar on Viktor's chest. He didn't say anything about finding out where Viktor's heart was afterwards, instead he told Phichit he had been ignoring the signs all this time when they were out on the ice.

Phichit was very still after Yuuri was finished. He was staring ahead as if lost in thought.

"That's why we're here, isn't it?" He asked at last.

"Yes," Yuuri answered. "I want him to know he's not alone. That he never will be. That I will always stay by his side even if we can't break the curse."

"I see," Phichit said, and a soft smile was playing around his lips.

When they arrived at the silversmith's in town, Yuuri took his pouch with the money he had been saving ever since he had started working at the castle, and together with some persuading from Phichit, it was just enough for what he needed.

The idea had come to him when he had seen the silver bracelets around Viktor's wrists. Pairs of lucky charms were a common tradition in Ohinn and Yuuri thought it was perfect for what he wanted to do.

When he felt the weight of the rings in his hands for the first time and saw their gold shining against his skin, he felt a lump rising in his throat and his heart flutter.

He had never been more certain of anything in his life.

*****

Some nights, Yuuri's routines ended up in duets which ended up in nothing in particular except for doing what they loved with the person they loved. And this night was one of them.

"Your Majesty," Yuuri said politely while he bowed his head and extended his hand with a smile he couldn't quite keep from his face.

"Your Royal Highness," Viktor answered with a smirk of his own as he took Yuuri's hand, and Yuuri's beaming smile lit up the whole room.

They skated together, improvising and just fooling around with jumps and steps and completely over the top moves. Smiling when their eyes met, giggling when they stumbled or when Yuuri discovered how ticklish Viktor was when he tried to lift him for the first time, simply forgetting all of their worries for a while.

Yuuri overbalanced during a lift and they toppled over, landing in a tangle on the ice and both bursting out in laughter after making sure the other was okay. They didn't immediately get up when their laughter had died down, too lost in each other's eyes. Viktor, who had somehow ended up lying on top of Yuuri, brushed Yuuri's cheek with his thumb.

Yuuri was glowing inside, like a cosy fire on a freezing winter night; the warmth of Viktor's soft smile warded off the coldness of the ice.

"мое сердце," Viktor said softly, and Yuuri recognised the sound of the syllables from their night together in Viktor's chambers, but their meaning was still a mystery to him.

Viktor kissed him deeply, and Yuuri sighed happily at his touch, his hand tightening momentarily in Viktor's shirt to keep him close.

After they had broken apart, Viktor helped Yuuri up and they skated to the side of the rink. Yuuri had taken up the habit to bring blankets with him every night so they could sit on the ice for a while longer without their limbs freezing off. They spread them out and sat down with their backs against the barrier, huddled close beneath Viktor's warm cloak.

Yuuri had slipped the rings in his pocket when he had gone to get the blankets, and his heart was racing with anticipation. He wanted to show them to Viktor right away, wanted to slip one of them on his lean finger, wanted for Viktor to do the same with him. But maybe it was too sudden? Too out of the blue? Maybe it was too excessive? 

He was being ridiculous. This was Viktor, he wouldn’t laugh at him or think it was too sentimental, and it wasn’t like it was an actual marriage proposal. Do it now, Yuuri thought as his hand reached for his pocket.

"Do you know why I wanted to coach you?" Yuuri's hand stilled at the sound of Viktor's voice.

Yuuri turned his head to look at the other man who was watching the ice with a private smile on his face. His blue eyes were shimmering with thoughts unknown to Yuuri, and his pale cheeks were dusted with pink. The mere sight of him took Yuuri's breath away.

"It's the way your body creates music that drew me to you," Viktor continued, his eyes shifting to Yuuri and becoming impossibly more soft and tender. "I was moved by your skating ever since the first time I saw you on the ice. Perfectly in sync with the music, and so immersed in the story you were telling I could almost hear it word by word. And I was not the only one." The corner of Viktor's mouth curved a little higher at the memory. "All around me, the people were struck by your performance, had never expected so much from someone who wasn't even a crown prince."

Yuuri sat very still beside Viktor. He found it almost hard to believe Viktor was actually talking about him. He had never even expected for Viktor to have noticed him back then, him just being one of the dime a dozen princes that would never ascend the throne, and Viktor already having been crowned King not long before.

"And every time you did it again. Every time you touched a little more, reached a little deeper in everyone's hearts. I wasn't on the ice, so I didn't... feel all that much, but I was intrigued. And even though your technique wasn't flawless, I knew you would climb to be one of the best skaters out there. One of the best princes."

"But then I ran away," Yuuri continued softly in Viktor's stead. He was staring at his hands, folded in his lap.

"And then I found you." Viktor wrapped his hand around Yuuri's and squeezed lightly. "I found you right here on the ice, and I could see you hadn't given up yet. Not really." Yuuri looked up into Viktor's eyes and Viktor's face was so open and full of love that it made Yuuri's vision blur.

Yuuri entangled their fingers, tightening his grip on Viktor's hand. "I'm coming back, Viktor. At the Festival next month. I'm ready."

With his free hand, he reached for his pocket and took out the rings. Viktor's eyes widened as he saw the glint of metal between Yuuri's fingers.

"As long as you are with me, I'm ready for anything. Because I know you're always there to catch me when I fall, that you always will be there to help me find my strength when I can't see it myself. I can never thank you enough for all the things you've done for me." Yuuri barely knew what he was saying until the words left his mouth, rolling over his tongue in an unstoppable waterfall. "And I want for you to have the same certainty, to know I will always be there too. Even when you have forgotten the exact reason yourself."

His eyes darted to the rings in his hand for a second. "I initially bought them as a pair of lucky charms and as a reminder that I'll always be by your side, but..." He locked his gaze to Viktor's wide eyes. "Will you marry me, Viktor?"

For a couple of heartbeats, Viktor stared at him in shock, and Yuuri's heart clenched in fear. But then his face broke open into the purest smile Yuuri had ever seen, like it was forged by the sun itself. His blue eyes were shining. "Yes," he breathed, and Yuuri felt light-headed with relief and unspeakable happiness.

He held out the ring and noticed Viktor’s hand was trembling slightly as he slipped the ring around his finger, fitting perfectly as if it belonged there, as if it had always been there.

Viktor gently took the other ring from Yuuri and slid it around Yuuri's finger, cold but strangely familiar on his skin.

When their lips met each other, they were both laughing and crying tears of utter joy.

They stayed there for the rest of the night. Talking and laughing and kissing and marvelling at the gold on their fingers.

"We could also install a pole on the rink if you like," Viktor said when they were musing about their wedding skate.

Yuuri stared at him in confusion. Viktor had sounded like he was joking, but Yuuri couldn't figure out what the clue was.

"What do you mean?" he asked when he kept failing to understand.

Now it was Viktor's turn to look confused, but then something seemed to dawn on him. His eyes widened and his mouth formed a little 'o'.

"You don't remember."

"What should I remember?" An ominous feeling came over Yuuri; just the fact that it had something to do with a pole and the fact that he didn't remember it, assured him that it was probably very, very embarrassing.

"At your last Ball you were quite… intoxicated, and you may have dared some of the attendants to a dance battle that may have ended up in something involving you, Prince Christophe and a pole."

"You can't be serious," Yuuri cringed. He very much wanted to vanish into thin air and very much wanted to go back to his blissful obliviousness.

Viktor let out a quiet laugh. "Relax, everyone thought you were amazing. You won every single dance off."

"Even the pole one?"

"Especially the pole one." And Viktor laughed harder when Yuuri buried his face in his hands. He took them in his own and lifted Yuuri's face to kiss him with a smile. It made Yuuri feel a little better.

And so the night wore on, slipping by unnoticed until a knock on the door rang through the air. They looked at each other with reluctance in their eyes, wanting to stay a little longer, wanting to postpone their goodbye a little more.

Eventually, Yuuri stood up first and helped Viktor up. They folded the blankets together, and Yuuri put them in the bag again. When he turned back to the rink, Viktor was still standing on the ice, his tiptoes just before the edge in the doorway, staring at his feet. Yuuri walked over to him and gently took his hand.

Viktor looked up at him.

"I don't want to stop loving you," he said.

Yuuri swallowed, and ignored the aching in his chest.

He lifted Viktor's hand and kissed the ring around his finger. "You won't," he said, and Viktor stepped off the ice.

*****

Of course it didn't last. Of course fate never lets you be happy for long.

Their training didn't go through the next night, because Viktor had to attend a dinner party organised by the Duke of Nacada. And even though Yuuri missed Viktor and wanted nothing more than to see him, he also knew it was a good thing to have a decent night of sleep for once since he was exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open.

So after some catching up and chatting with Phichit who had a night off as well, he went to sleep early and drifted off as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He was having pleasant dreams until a smack and the sound of creaking wood clashing against wood startled him out of them. He didn't know what was happening and it took his mind a couple of seconds to catch up with the hands grabbing him out of his bed.

Before he could say a word he was slammed against the floor face first, the air knocked out of his lungs, and his hands were roughly tied behind his back.

"What's happening?" he heard Phichit say. "What are you doing?" He had run over to where Yuuri was pinned to the floor, but a second man held out his hand to stop Phichit.

Through his dazed haze, Yuuri realised that the men were guards. He felt the bottom of his stomach drop.

"You are arrested for the robbery of the King's heart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very short (and not very well written) chapter. But there's some cheesy fluff to make up for the angst of the previous chapter ~~and the Angst™️ to come~~.
> 
> Next chapter will be up Saturday 8th of July probably in the early afternoon already! (time zone GMT +2)
> 
> мое сердце: "my heart"
> 
> Don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'd love to hear what you think! <3


	10. It's Only Love, It's Only Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: blood (it's in the fifth paragraph)

Despite his heartlessness, Viktor fell in love twice.

The first time, he was still a prince, and he fell in love with the ice. It was a lot like gasping for air, like everything falling into place and dislodging at the same time, wonderful and painful all at once.

It was wonderful because he could finally _feel_ something, could finally know what feeling meant. Because even though how hard he smiled and how kind he treated everyone and how hard he tried to please them, he wasn't happy. He wasn't anything at all. His feelings were dull and blunt, dusted and forgotten like ancient ruins buried beneath leaves and tendrils. But once he stepped on the ice, once he felt his heart underneath, everything seeped right back into his skin, into his bones. And it made the blood pulse through his veins like the magic in his chest never could.

It was painful because only then, only there, he realised what loneliness was, and that he wore it like a coat that fit too well, that he never noticed he spent hours upon hours in it when he was going on about his day. And it hit him all the harder when he was on the ice where he realised what he felt every second of every day. What he missed every second of every day. Like small puncture wounds on every inch of his body.

He always tried to hide the pain from Yakov, and was grateful Yakov pretended not to notice.

Even though it hurt so much, he couldn't stay away. Maybe he forgot how much it hurt exactly during the day, or maybe love is addicting even to the heartless, either way Viktor soon found himself skating after training hours, not wanting to leave the ice and knowing he wanted to get back to it as soon as he had left without having a logical explanation why. However, the Council noticed and told him to keep it restricted to the training sessions because he had more important matters and duties to attend to.

"Go after sundown, when the castle sleeps," his mother had whispered in his ear one night when she put him to bed.

He had looked at her for a while, almost asking her why he would do something like that. But then a voice told him he should listen to her. He _knew_ she wanted the best for him, and if he _knew_ something he also _knew_ it was right. It was a trick he had taught himself, his only way to go through the day and make right decisions --or what others would deem as morally right because he couldn't always tell. When he was on the rink, he saved some thoughts as facts in his mind, things he felt when he was there, but forgot as soon as he left. Some of those things regarding his mother were: _Mother loves you, that means she only wants the best for you. She will never hurt you, she would do anything for you, she protected you before._ And when he repeated those thoughts often enough in his head when he wasn't on the ice, they changed into facts and self-evident truths like the fact that the sun goes down in the West or the fact that he was cursed.

So he slipped out of bed that night and made his way to the rink where the guard let him in, probably already warned by his mother that he would come.

Even for the few hours he had been away, he could feel how much he had missed the ice as soon as he set foot on it. The truth was that Viktor was scared of the emptiness. He was scared of himself, the person he was without the ice, without his heart.

Sometimes he skated until deep in the night, until his legs could barely carry him anymore and his breaths came out heavy and wheezing. He just couldn't stop, couldn't hold it in anymore for one single second. Skating was the only way for him to express all the love he couldn't feel, to express all the aching love he could feel there.

Sometimes he just sat there on the ice until he couldn't feel his skin anymore, until his bones grew cold and his lips turned blue. Overwhelmed by the brightness of it all, by the sharpness and the stinging desires of his heart. Like being blinded by colours after thinking the world was only black and white. He sat there until someone wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and familiar hands tugged him gently away from the ice. He faintly recognised the smell of flowers in his nostrils and the way fingers stroked his head like they had done when he was a child.

Even though the blanket and the arms around him were warming him up again, the emptiness in his chest stayed freezing cold.

*

The second time Viktor fell in love, he was already a king, and it was with a beautiful boy with beautiful brown eyes.

It was long before the boy turned up on his rink one night, even before he had turned into the Runaway Prince even though Viktor hadn't realised it back then.

Of course he had seen the Prince of Ohinn before, had watched him skate at the Grand Ball Festivals and had been looking forward to his performances more and more every year. The way he moved, the way he danced on the ice stirred something inside of Viktor though he couldn't tell what it was. But the other boy was a wallflower, a quiet prince amidst the boasting youngsters, and despite the Festivals and the Grand Balls that took place afterwards, Viktor had never exchanged a word with him except for the usual courtesy greetings and goodbyes.

It was not until the Grand Ball Festival when Viktor was twenty-three years old, that he met Prince Yuuri properly for the first time.

Prince Yuuri took everyone's breath away with his short program that year, enthralling them with his spins and steps and making the people cheer and praise like never before. Viktor still remembered him: his dark eyes far away while he slid over the ice, a crease appearing between his eyebrows when the music built and reached its climax, his movements matching the atmosphere of the music as if he was a part of it.

His name was whispered everywhere, almost as much as Viktor's own; Ohinn should be proud to have a prince like him even when they already had such an excellent crown princess as Princess Mari, and everyone looked forward to his free skate two days later. But something seemed to go wrong during the Prince’s free skate and made him fall on half of his jumps, which made him panic and caused him to lose his usual high marks on presentation as well.

The whispers became silent. Viktor briefly wondered what had happened, but didn't think much of it and didn't doubt the Prince’s talent for even a second. Whatever it was, Viktor knew Prince Yuuri would skate brilliantly again next year, maybe even better than this year's short program had been.

At the Grand Ball afterwards, Viktor made polite small talk with his guests, waving away their praise about his own skating with a joke or a humble thank you like his mother had taught him, until his eyes were caught by movement in the middle of the dancefloor. He excused himself with his interlocutors and came closer to see what was happening, people in the crowd that had gravitated towards the centre of the room hastily stepping aside for him. He discovered his cousin --and next in line-- being drawn into a dance off with no one less than quiet Prince Katsuki Yuuri himself, who wasn't at all quiet anymore and who quite obviously had had more than enough to drink.

There were a lot of shocked faces around the room, a couple of mouths were whispering furiously, indignantly. But Viktor was amused as he watched the two princes dance. His cousin with his usual temper and competitiveness, the other Prince with an elegant carelessness you couldn't take your eyes from, clearly fueled by the amount of alcohol in his blood.

Of course Prince Yuuri won; there was no doubt. He smiled happily and cheered at his victory, punching his arms in the air. But then his eyes caught Viktor's and they started to sparkle and his smile stretched impossibly wider. He started running and the next thing Viktor knew, he was holding the Prince in his arms, just in time to keep him from falling after tripping over his own feet. When he regained his footing, Prince Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor's chest in a tight embrace.

"King Viktor!" he yelled excitedly. He continued in a slurred ramble of his own language and Viktor could only understand the last sentence which he said in the common tongue again: "Teach me how to skate like a real prince, King Viktoooor." 

Before Viktor could answer, though, the Prince noticed a very pole-looking pillar and challenged Prince Christophe to another dance off, who immediately discarded all of his unnecessary clothing.

For some reason, Viktor's eyes were drawn to the drunk Prince for the remainder of the night. 

At last, when the night grew old and more and more guests were retiring to their chambers, Prince Yuuri asked him to dance, his silver crown back on his head after the many dance battles which made the light in his eyes seem even brighter, and Viktor found himself unable to refuse for reasons not quite clear even to himself. As he and the Prince waltzed through the almost empty room --Prince Yuuri surprisingly elegant despite his intoxicated state--, Viktor promised him he would teach him how to skate like a prince, whispering it quietly in his ear like a secret.

One week after the Grand Ball Festival, Viktor got the news that Prince Yuuri had run away. No one knew why, no one knew where to, only that he had. The King and Queen of Ohinn sent out nearly all their men to go and search for their son, but he seemed just as magically disappeared as Viktor's heart all those years ago.

Viktor was disturbed by the news, but only on the ice could he feel how deep it ran, how it cut through his veins. He couldn't get the Prince out of his head, couldn't keep him out of his skating; he was everywhere at once yet nowhere at the same time. The more his mind wandered to him, the more worry tugged and turned in his gut, making him sick to his stomach. Why did he run? he asked himself, what if I never see him again? The thought twisted something inside of him and he quickly abandoned the ice to get away from all the confusing things he was feeling.

Time passed and after four years there was still no sign of the Runaway Prince. Sometimes whispers would rise from the depths of stables and kitchens, underground corridors and servants' halls, claiming to have seen the Prince here or here, claiming to have heard his voice here or here, claiming he was dead here or here.

That's all they were, though, whispers. Nothing more. And Viktor started to fear Prince Yuuri was lost to the world forever.

Except he wasn't. Because one night, when Viktor was let in by Georgi and Phichit for his nightly training, there he was. In the middle of the rink. _Skating_.

Viktor didn't recognise him at first, wanted to call the man out who was skating on his ice without permission, but then it dawned on him. He had ice skates.

_Yuuri._

Viktor watched him skate and as it proceeded, he recognised the routine. His own last free skate; Stay Close to Me. A plea for love not to leave him, not off the ice, not ever. But deep down it had also been a plea for a prince he had met so many years ago, a prince he thought about every time he was on the ice, to come back.

Viktor slid closer, never taking his eyes off the lost Prince. Careful to not be seen in return. He sat down, feet on the ice, and felt the love trickling back into his skin, more hurried than usual. Insisting.

He watched the Prince and the love kept streaming inside of him. More intense than it had ever been, growing growing growing until he felt like it was pouring right out of his skin again.

But he barely noticed it because the Prince was mesmerising, enchanting, creating music even though it was perfectly silent except for his blades sliding over the ice.

The routine came to an end. Imagined music fading until only Yuuri's breathing disturbed the cold air.

Viktor had finally found the lost Prince, and it felt like finding his heart back inside his chest.

*****

Viktor knew what was wrong as soon as he woke up in the guest chambers of the Duke of Nacada's castle. He wasn't alarmed, he wasn't panicking, he wasn't scared. He wasn't anything at all.

_Three days._

He felt light-headed and slightly nauseous, but he didn't say anything about his discomfort to his servant that helped him dress, just told him to ready the carriages as soon as he could.

He even managed to eat a decent amount of the breakfast buffet that, despite being very little, wouldn't raise any suspicion, and managed to keep it inside during his and the Duke's goodbyes. The Duke once again elaborately apologised for his son's absence, but Viktor cut him off politely and waved it away, wanting to depart as soon as possible.

He stepped into the carriage, and closed his eyes when the door was shut and the curtains drawn closed. He breathed in and out very slowly, holding his breath for ten seconds in between. 

He counted to twenty-five breaths before knocking on the small window in front of him and ordering the charioteer to halt. He pushed open the door before the carriage had even completely stopped and doubled over at the side of the road.

When he was finished, he took a moment to catch his breath. He wiped a hand over his mouth and noticed it was trembling. His legs were shaking as well, and a sheen of sweat had gathered on his forehead.

"Are you alright, your Majesty?" a worried voice from behind him asked.

"Yes, of course," he said instinctively, but his voice sounded far away and strange to his own ears. He cleared his throat and turned around, not looking at anyone as he climbed back in the carriage and closed the door again. When they continued their way, Viktor noticed the charioteer had picked up the pace.

The roads were bumpy, even more so at this speed, and Viktor found himself shuddering like he was stuck in the epicentre of an earthquake. He couldn't bring himself to try and hold himself steady; his muscles were aching even when he wasn't using them. Every second it was harder to breathe, and he tugged weakly at his collar, trying to loosen it so he could get more air. He was burning up, a forest fire itching over his skin.

He tried to keep his eyes open, to hold on to the red curtain in front of him and the velvet beneath his digging fingers.

By the time the carriage arrived at the castle, Viktor was trembling and sweating all over. He didn't realise that the carriage had come to a halt until the door was pulled open and cutting sunlight came pouring in. He managed to stand up and ducked his head to climb out of the carriage.

He heard someone yell before everything disappeared in the darkness.

*****

Viktor didn't remember much of his early childhood, but he remembered the first time he set foot on the ice.

It had been on his sixth birthday, when he had gotten his first pair of skates. His mother helped him tie them and held his hand when they stepped on the ice together. He had seen a lot of kings and queens and princes and princesses skate on that rink already, and had spent a lot of time waiting at the sideline when his mother was training and he didn't want to play with the other children. Now it was his turn.

In his memory, Viktor watched them as if from a distance, two figures with the same silver hair. He could see his feet slip and his mother smiling and catching him just in time. He could pinpoint the exact moment his eyes widened and the breath stilled in his lungs when he felt his heart for the first time underneath the thick ice.

"Do you feel it, Vitya?" his mother asked softly, and he looked up at her with big eyes and open mouth, unable to say anything. And then suddenly, something broke inside his chest like a floodgate being pulled open, and a smile broke out on his face, showing his missing front teeth in all their glory. Soon he was off running and laughing --and falling-- on the ice while his mother skated along with a loving smile around her lips.

Later, when he was older, she told him it had been the first time she had really seen him smile.

*****

Viktor drifted in and out of consciousness until he didn't know what time it was or if it was even still the same day. Someone had taken him to his chambers and had changed him into his night shirt. The silk sheets scraped his skin.

"Yuuri," he whispered. Or at least he thought he did, he wasn't sure his voice was still working.

The room was dark but for a half-burned candle on the bedside table and the light from the corridor spilling through the crack of the door. There were people standing outside, talking in low voices, and Viktor caught scattered pieces of their conversation.

"-only one who knew except for me, how can he not-"

"-no... where did he hide it... nowhere to be found."

"-done this before... I'll take care of it."

He must have made a sound himself, because one of the voices --Yurio's, Viktor realised-- suddenly excused himself, and Viktor fought to stay conscious when he approached, but was dragged away from the world again before his cousin reached the bed.

*****

When his mother told Viktor the truth about his father's death, Viktor said 'okay' and she started to cry. She hugged him and he mechanically hugged her back because he knew she needed it for some reason.

Apparently, she had killed his father.

There had been no thieves that had gotten around the guards, no last heroic act of love that resulted in a tragic death. All the stories were lies. His mother had made it all up because no one would have believed her if she had told them the truth. In reality, there had only been his father with his favourite knife.

Greater sacrifices had been made for eternal life, after all.

His mother said she didn't remember anything after seeing his father standing over his crib. She said the next thing she knew she was standing there with her husband lying dead at her feet and the knife sticking out of his chest, which made Viktor think of how the gemstones must have caught the moonlight. She said that was the moment she decided to call upon the fairy, and Viktor lost his heart.

When he was back on the ice the first time after she had told him, he dropped to his knees because of the excruciating pain that hit him like the fists of the gods themselves. He sat there trembling and trying to breathe until Yakov called the healers to take him away and examine him. He didn't set foot on it again for two weeks, until the Council forced him to take up his training again.

He hated his father at first. Hated him to the bone. And he hated him even more because he was the reason Viktor couldn't feel anything else than the overpowering and all-consuming hate on the ice, that even the little precious time he had with his heart was now poisoned and dark. The people went wild at the Grand Ball Festival that year, although they were a little alarmed by the fierceness of his skating, but all he had wanted to do when he was bowing and receiving the thunderous applause from the crowd, was spit the truth right into their cheering faces. The Council told him they were his best performances yet, and he hated his father all the more for that.

He was angry as well. A burning anger that came hand in hand with the hate. He was angry at the unfairness of it all and his inability to do anything about it. It was unfair that his father was still worshiped and regarded as the greatest King to have ever reigned Ussira while his mother was often forgotten or seen as a mere transition figure, even though she was the person who really deserved everyone's respect and love. Whose portrait really deserved to hang on that wall.

He was angry at himself as well. At the fact that as soon as he left the ice, he couldn't care less about the whole thing. That even something like this didn't come through to him.

But with time the hate and the anger lost their edges like stones being morphed into spheroids by the current of a river. And underneath a surface of sadness and loathing, he found himself feeling sorry. Not only for the past, or for his mother, or for the life they could have had. He also felt sorry for his father, who had been so addicted to power and so consumed by greed that it had burned out all the love of his heart.

Viktor might have an empty chest, but it was a better fate than being left with an empty heart.

*****

Viktor never once had a dream in his life. Not a single one. But now he was having one fever dream after the other until he didn't know what was real anymore. He dreamt of blue flowers and familiar hands and knives decorated with gemstones catching the moonlight. Long silver hair and lost front teeth and whispers of a beautiful man with beautiful brown eyes.

He was skating on the rink and could see his heart all the way through the ice, captured in its frozen shelter. He skated and skated but couldn't get any closer, the ice as unrelenting as the earth itself.

Suddenly there was someone with him, silver skates matching his golden ones, he thought he saw a glimpse of dark eyes but they were enveloped in shadows again before he could be sure.

He wanted to go to the other figure, to skate with him. Maybe he knew a way to get to his heart, maybe he could help him. But even though how hard Viktor tried, he couldn't reach him, couldn't even move a single inch. Somehow, the other skater had managed to reach the centre of the rink without Viktor having any recollection of seeing him do it. He didn't even seem to have come any closer, but there he was, skating right above Viktor's heart.

Happiness coursed through Viktor's chest like an overflowing river. He recognised those delicate movements now, recognised the sparks shivering through his limbs every time he looked at the other man.

"Yuuri!" he called, but the other man didn't hear him and continued his fierce step sequence. Viktor wanted for Yuuri to come to him, to free him from his paralysed state and skate with him until the world ended. Who needed a heart when they had this?

"Yuu-" A cutting pain stabbed through his chest, making his eyes widen and the breath catch in his throat. His hand reached for his chest as if he could find the source of the pain and take it away. When the piercing pain dragged on, he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, waiting for the pain to subside or for him to become accustomed enough to bear it.

When he opened his eyes again there was a red line coiling underneath the surface of the ice beneath his feet. His gaze followed the line, joined by a second, a third, a fourth, until it was one writhing mess of red lines all coming together in one central point like a deformed star. Right beneath silver blades. Right above his heart.

Viktor fell to his knees, but they never hit the ground. When he blinked, he wasn't on the ice anymore. He was inside of it. He was looking up through the surface where the blood had momentarily cleared around him as if he was surrounded by invisible walls. Yuuri was standing right above him, staring down at him even though Viktor still couldn't discern any clear features. He was holding Viktor's heart in his hand.

"Yuuri!" Viktor yelled, but he only swallowed blood as it closed in on him, slowly obscuring his view of the other man. "Yuuri!" He pounded his fists against the surface, but it only made the blood spatter into his face. He yelled and punched until his fingers were bruised and broken, but Yuuri just grinned and blew him a kiss before the blood hid him from sight. Viktor screamed for him to come back, but there was no sound coming out of his throat. He coughed to keep the metallic taste of blood from choking him.

"Do you feel it, Vitya?"

He turned his head to the source of the sound and through the bloody haze, he could see her. Her silver hair was clean of blood and her cheeks hadn't yet hollowed out like they had been the last time he had seen her. The small gemstones on her dress caught the nonexistent moonlight.

"Do you feel it, Vitya?" she repeated softly and she watched him drown with a loving smile around her lips.

*****

The fever subsided on the third day, and Viktor was glad he could spend his last day with a clear mind. He didn't really feel it, but he knew he would be if he had been on the ice.

He was still weak though, could barely sit up for more than ten minutes, but he refused any help with his breakfast that morning, stubbornly struggling to lift the spoon to his mouth, having to catch his breath after every few bites. The curtains were drawn open and the sun was shining obliviously. Viktor thought it was a nice day to go even though there was a voice in his head telling him something was missing.

Yurio was standing by one of the windows, staring out over the gardens where the flowers were already out of bloom.

Viktor realised he would never see the flowers bloom again. It made him think of all the things he had done these past couple of months without knowing he would never do them again. The last time he had run his fingers through Makkachin's fur, the last time he had felt his blades slide over the ice, the last time he had seen Yuuri's smile.

"He hasn't returned."

Viktor's hand paused mid-air.

Yurio was still staring out of the window, but the bitterness was clear in his voice. Viktor put his spoon down, and his eyes were caught by the gold on his finger.

When he had woken up that morning and found himself not deluded by the fever anymore, he had asked for Yuuri. Yakov and Lilia, who had been with him at the time, had stared at him in shock for a while. Yakov had run his hand over his face and mumbled a prayer to the gods. Lilia's eyes were shining, but her mouth was angry when she had said: "He escaped." Viktor was puzzled by the new information and said 'escaped' was a strange choice of words whereupon they had told him about Yuuri's arrest and how he had mysteriously vanished from his cell the night after.

"It wasn't him, Yuri," Viktor said.

"Who else then?" Yurio snapped as he wheeled around. There was something difficult in his eyes, something Viktor didn't understand. "Come on tell me, who else do you think it was? Yakov? _Me?_ Tell me!"

His words sounded sharp and jagged, but Viktor couldn't feel them sting. He held Yurio's gaze, the boy's mouth was drawn in a tight line. The air felt heavy as the seconds wore on.

Yurio averted his eyes and sighed. "Why do you refuse to see what's right in front of you?" His voice was soft now, so low Viktor almost couldn't hear him over the buzzing in his ears.

Little black stains were dancing on the edge of his vision, and the sitting was making him sweat. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, Yurio was standing at his side, removing the little table with the nearly full plates. Viktor lowered himself until he was half lying down and half sitting up, supported by the cloudy pillows behind him. At least he could breathe again.

Yurio sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands fiddling with the ruffles of his sleeves. They didn't say anything for a while, and Viktor felt his eyelids droop and his mind drift off. He faintly wondered if he would ever resurface.

"I will find him." Viktor opened his eyes again and saw Yurio staring at him, his green eyes determined like they were when he was skating, though not as alight. "I swear to you I will find him. I will hunt him down to the end of the world if I have to. He won't be able to run from me, not this time. Not when he- when you-" Yurio's words were broken off by a strangled sob. Viktor hadn't noticed his eyes turning wet.

Viktor had seen Yurio cry countless of times when he was a child. He was an angry crier, used to cry at the slightest unfairness, but it had been a while; at some point Yurio had chosen to just bite back instead. This seemed different, though. He was angry, but that was not all. He seemed torn and broken.

Seeing Yurio struggling like that, trying to hold back the sobs and wiping the tears from his cheeks even though it was useless, made Viktor realise it really was the end.

_I'm dying._

He tried to lift his hand, ignoring the aching in his muscles, and managed to move it enough for Yurio to have noticed. He understood what Viktor had intended and took Viktor's hand in his. Viktor pulled and even though it was hardly more than a weak tug, Yurio bent over and buried his face in Viktor's shirt.

His defence had finally crumbled and his sobs were loud even though they were faintly muffled by Viktor's shirt. Viktor felt it grow wet against his chest.

"I'm not ready, Viktor," Yurio said. "I don't want to be king. Not this way."

Viktor remembered himself saying the same once in a distant past. "We don't decide the way things go."

"But I haven't even proven myself yet. What if I will never be as good as you? You can't go, Viktor. You can't leave me."

Viktor squeezed Yurio's hand, and because he didn't know what to say, he repeated the same words he had heard all those years ago.

"Be brave, Yuri. And never lose yourself along the way."

*****

When his mother had felt her end drawing near, she had asked some of the guards to lay her on the ice so she could say a proper goodbye to her son. It had hurt so much Viktor had almost wished she hadn't, but if they had to do it all over again, he knew he would join her on the ice again in a heartbeat. He would huddle close to her again between all the pillows and blankets laid out for her, would listen to her unintelligible muttering and her wheezing breathing when words became too much for her, would hold her close again like he had never done when he was a child, until time stopped existing and there was only the space between his mother's heartbeats beneath his ear. Until there wasn't.

That night he had taken Yuuri to his chambers, time had stopped existing as well. Yuuri had been fast asleep, and Viktor had stayed up all night listening to the slow and steady beating of his heart, half expecting it to stop since that seemed to be the effect he had on hearts. But it had kept beating, and Viktor had held Yuuri a little tighter. When Yuuri moved a little in his sleep, indicating that he was about to wake up, Viktor had finally let him go and watched him until he was awake.

_Where are you, my Yuuri?_

"Lay me on the ice," he told Yakov when the sun was nothing more than a sliver above the horizon. He had been watching it ever since the bottom had touched the distant trees.

"But, Vitya, it isn't..." Yakov trailed off, not having the heart to finish his sentence. Or maybe because he had one.

_Oh, that's right._

Viktor had gotten so used to the ice being associated with love, he hadn't realised it would lose its power when his heart was gone.

"Do it anyway."

At least I am good at pretending, he thought when the sun disappeared and left the world in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> Edit: Because of some personal issues, next chapter won't be there Saturday 15th, but hopefully somewhen in the week of the 17th.
> 
> Come and scream at me on [tumblr](http://skating-husbands.tumblr.com), and don't hesitate to leave a comment!! <3


	11. With Every Heartbeat I Have Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: minor character death

Yuuri didn't enjoy the wind in his hair this time. Didn't feel careless and free as he rode through the beautiful landscape of Ussira.

The sun was setting. Viktor was dying.

He dug his heels deeper in Makkachin's sides.

*****

When they had locked him up in one of the dark cells in the dungeon, Yuuri had yelled and yelled. Had yelled that there had been a mistake, that he would never steal Viktor’s heart, that they had to let him out. He yelled until one of the guards came to put a piece of cloth in his mouth that tasted of sweat, and bound another piece around it to silence him. Yuuri kept trying to beg them to let him go, and when he found that his voice was too muffled to reach far enough, he started kicking the wooden door, ignoring the pain shooting through his legs, until the guards came back and knocked him out cold with a quick blow to his temple.

When he came to, it took him a while to figure out why the surface beneath him was so hard and cold and slightly damp, why his head hurt so much and why there was something in his mouth that made it hard to swallow. When he wanted to reach for his temple which hurt so much it seemed his skull was splitting in half, the rope cut sharply into the skin of his wrists and he remembered what had happened. The guards grabbing him out of his bed, locking him up, accusing him of having stolen Viktor’s heart.

_Viktor._

He shot upright, a wave of nausea and dizziness immediately hitting him, but he barely noticed it. How long had he been unconscious? How long did Viktor still have?

He had to get out of there. He needed to see Viktor, make sure Viktor was all right, that he was still alive, make sure Viktor knew that he wasn’t the one who had taken his heart. And then he needed to find out who did steal it and bring it back to Viktor. It was the only way he could think of that might save him.

But who could have done it? Who knew, apart from him, where the heart was? Viktor had once mentioned coach Yakov and Prince Yurio knowing its hiding place, but why wait to steal it until now? He didn’t know Yakov that well, but Prince Yurio didn’t really seem like the type to steal, either. Yes, he was an angry teenager who thought the whole world was against him, but he didn’t seem dangerous or malicious to Yuuri. 

For one frightening second, Yuuri’s thoughts jumped to Phichit. Had he figured out the location of the heart because of something Yuuri had said, just like he had figured out Yuuri was the Runaway Prince? Yuuri pushed the thought away almost as soon as it had occurred. He could still see Phichit’s face when the guards had hauled him up again in their hut: “Yuuri?” he had said, and the disgust that coated his disbelief hurt Yuuri even more than being slammed to the floor. “Is this true?”

Yuuri sighed and struggled to stand, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as a cutting pain shot through his head. 

He had to get out of there.

Through the small bars in the door that were at eye level, Yuuri peered out into the dungeon, but all he could see was a dark and empty corridor with other cells aligning the walls. He tried to call for someone but the gag prevented his voice from carrying far. When it became clear no one was coming, he abandoned the door and began inspecting his cell instead, looking for something else that could help him escape.

There were no windows, not even close to the ceiling high above him, only the cold stone walls surrounding him and a bit of useless hay strewn out on the floor. Because he didn’t know what to do and had to start somewhere, he started to look for loose stones, for any weakness in the unrelenting walls. 

By the time he came to the third wall and still hadn’t found anything he could use as an escape route, panic was rising in his throat and was taking over his mind. He had to get out of there. There was no other option. He didn’t allow himself another option, didn’t allow himself to think of the alternative, of never seeing Viktor again, of Viktor cold and motionless and not breathing anymore, of failing and not being able to save the man he loved.

He could feel tears of despair and fear sting behind his eyes, but then he heard some shuffling at the door, a quiet mumbling. He ran so fast he almost tripped over his own feet, and found Georgi’s face at the other side of the bars. 

_Georgi, let me out,_ he wanted to say, but only a muffled sound came out. 

Georgi didn’t seem to listen to him anyway, kept muttering to himself, and only now could Yuuri hear what he was saying. “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault.”

Yuuri kicked against the door which seemed to startle Georgi out of his almost trance-like state, as if he had come to Yuuri’s cell by accident, as if he hadn’t meant to end up there or had forgotten what he had come to do. He looked miserable when his gaze met Yuuri’s through the bars, his eyes were shining and Yuuri thought he could start crying every minute.

“I am sorry, your Royal Highness, I am so sorry. It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault.” In the back of his mind Yuuri faintly wondered how Georgi knew who he was, but then he figured everyone must know by now, his cover blown after the guards had undoubtedly searched his stuff and found his ice skates.

Yuuri made a sound, and Georgi realised he couldn’t say anything because of the gag. He reached his fingers through the bars, and Yuuri turned around so Georgi could loosen the knot at the back of his head. All the while, Georgi kept apologising.

As soon as he felt it give way beneath Georgi’s fingers, Yuuri spit out the cloth and whirled around again.

“What have you done?” he said, and he couldn’t quite keep the anger out of his voice, couldn’t help the distress sounding through.

“I- she…” Georgi couldn’t make the words leave his mouth and Yuuri had to gather all his self-control to not start yelling at Georgi and force him to tell him. He knew it would have the reversed effect in the state the guard was in. “I am so sorry, your Royal Highness.”

“What do you mean?” Yuuri insisted, only barely keeping the frustration out of his voice. A heavy feeling had settled in his stomach, had nestled itself in his chest, and he both wanted and dreaded the answer.

“Anya,” Georgi said, “she is the lady’s maid of Isabella.”

Isabella, JJ’s fiancée. The son of the Duke of Nacada who wanted to participate in the Grand Ball Festival, who wanted to see the royal houses razed to the ground so he could rule instead.

“You knew where it was,” Yuuri said and it wasn’t a question. 

Georgi just nodded, staring at the floor. “The King told me himself. I… I was the only guard in the whole castle who knew.” He sounded almost surprised at the words leaving his mouth, disbelieving.

“And you told her.”

Georgi nodded again. “And now the King… He’s-” he couldn’t finish his sentence, his voice choked off by a strangled sound.

Yuuri was so angry he could feel it burning in his fingertips, could feel it scorching beneath his skin. He wanted to shout at Georgi, wanted to punch someone in the face for the first time in his life, but he was so furious he couldn’t even say a word. All he could do was close his eyes and breathe and try to calm himself, to ground himself again and think of what to do next.

But behind the anger, there was also an immense and indescribable relief flooding through him. At least he knew where Viktor’s heart was now, at least Georgi could let him out and he could find it. He could save Viktor.

When he opened his eyes again, he could see how miserable Georgi looked, how much regret there was in his eyes, how much horror at what he had done, and he felt the anger ease a little.

“I will fix it, Georgi, I won’t let this happen. Let me out.”

*

Georgi helped him prepare everything for his journey and went to grab some food from the kitchens while Yuuri was saddling Makkachin. By the time Georgi came back, Yuuri was already in the saddle, waiting impatiently for the guard to return. Georgi apologised again and again, but Yuuri just nodded and as soon as the saddle bag was closed, he drove off into the night.

It took him almost a full day to reach the castle of the duke of Nacada. He had restrained himself from riding at full speed, ignoring all his instincts to reach his destination as soon as possible. Instead, he had held a steady pace that wasn't too tiring for Makkachin and made sure he paused on a regular basis, so Makkachin would still have all his strength for their return.

_We will need it._

Night was already settling again when he saw the city walls appear on a faraway hill, and he decided to get some rest and enter the castle when the gates opened at dawn. 

When he was setting his camp, he had a weird sense of déjà-vu, as if the year at the castle had never happened. As if he had never met Phichit, as if he had never found himself again and the courage to return, as if he had never fallen in love with the kindest and most brilliant man in the world. But Makkachin's presence assured him everything was different now, that he was found and that he wasn’t hiding or running. Not this time. His presence also reminded him with a heart wrenching sting in his chest why he was here.

He wanted nothing more than to run to Viktor, hold him in his arms and stay by his side. He didn't want Viktor to be alone right now, didn't want Viktor to think that he had betrayed him and stolen his heart, even if Viktor couldn't feel the hurt. But he knew this was the only chance of saving him. 

He didn't allow himself to think of what might happen if he didn't succeed, if maybe it hadn't been JJ after all and if he didn't find the heart. He didn't allow himself to think he might not even be back in time to say goodbye.

His dreams that night were filled with images he couldn't recall in the morning, but still lingered uneasily in his gut when he woke up. 

At the break of dawn, Yuuri watched the gates but they didn't open. He refused to panic, and thought about ways to change his plans instead. A little before noon, he knocked on the gates and told the guards he had been sent by the King because he had an urgent message for the duke. After a moment of insisting on the importance of the matter, the guards let him in, convinced by the King's emblem on Makkachin's harness.

He bound Makkachin to a wooden pole in the courtyard, tying the reins loosely so he would be able to escape quickly if necessary. When he was done, he followed one of the guards to the audience room. All the while, his mind was racing, and he observed the building from the corners of his eyes. Where could it be?

The guard led him to a room that resembled a king's audience hall a little too close to be a coincidence, and told him to wait there. After the guard had left, Yuuri counted to twenty before leaving the room himself through another door at the other end of the hall.

From the courtyard, he had seen four towers, each at a corner of the walls surrounding the castle, but just before he had entered, his eyes had caught sight of a fifth. It was a smaller one, somewhat remote and close to what were undoubtedly the private quarters of the Duke and his family. He knew it was dangerous to go into the tower because he would be trapped if someone caught him, but he figured it was his best chance of finding the heart. He had to take the risk. And if the heart wasn’t there and if, by some miracle, he wasn’t caught yet, he could investigate the dungeons or search for possible hidden corridors and chambers in the cellars.

He swallowed with difficulty and was afraid the pounding of his heart could be heard all the way to the other side of the castle. He made his way to what he thought was the direction of the tower as fast as possible without being seen or heard.

He was surprised when he reached a little wooden door and stood at the bottom of a curling stairway when he opened it. He hesitated for a moment; if the heart was there, wouldn’t the door be locked against unwanted guests? Wouldn’t there be heavily armoured guards flanking the door? 

He was startled by footsteps sounding behind him and quickly shut the door. Better safe than sorry, he thought and started climbing the narrow stairs. 

They seemed to be endless, but Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was because of the heighth of the tower or because every time he lifted his foot it seemed to take him an infinity or more before he set it down again. Somehow he managed to reach the top, though, and here too, there were no guards, no bolted door. Maybe the Duke and his son didn't even trust their own knights to guard something so precious. Maybe even JJ’s father didn't know what his fiancée had told him, didn’t even know what he had done.

It was going too easy, and Yuuri knew it, but he ignored the nagging feeling in his gut and allowed himself to believe the gods were on his side. 

The room around him was small and plain, furnished like a small library where the family members could enjoy and rest in all privacy. Light spilled through the open window and bathed the room in a peaceful glow, but Yuuri didn’t allow himself to be distracted by the serenity of it, and immediately went to work. He shoved aside the tapestries hanging on the walls between the bookcases to see if there were hidden alcoves carved into the stones. He looked behind the shelves, behind the books, searched the floor for loose floor boards, the large wooden chests. Just when panic was making his frantic fingers shake, he noticed the chest he was looking in wasn't as deep as the others. Or didn't seem to be from the inside at least, because it looked identical to the other two from the outside.

He hastily removed its contents, feverishly, desperately. He searched for a handle or a hole for him to put his finger through so he could lift the bottom. The shaking of his fingers worsened when he couldn’t find anything until he could barely control them anymore. It had to be here, there had to be a way, there had-- 

He sighed in overpowering relief when he shoved the wood a little to the side, enough for his fingers to slip in and take it out.

There was a small wooden box at the bottom of the chest, and Yuuri reached down with his trembling hands. Time was slowing down and it seemed as if he was reaching out for it into eternity, that it was simultaneously moving away from him, even more inaccessible now it was so close. 

The tips of his fingers touched the cold wood. He lifted it gently with both hands, and a quiet thudding sound reached his ears as he drew the box closer to him. He knew he had to get out of there, he had to get out of there right now and take the heart to Viktor as quickly as possible. But he found himself unable to move, unable to take his eyes from the elegant carvings of the wood, little figures telling a story that was unknown to Yuuri. He followed the ridges of the wood with the tip of his index finger, barely touching in a memory of when he had done the same with Viktor's scar.

He opened the box, and even though he had already heard it, he was surprised to find the heart still beating. As if it was supposed to, as if it had forgotten it wasn’t where it belonged. 

He felt the end of a sword pressing between his shoulder blades. "Stand up and turn around slowly."

His stomach dropped. He closed the small box, and did as he was told, silently cursing himself for not leaving as soon as he had found what he was looking for. 

Even though the man in front of him had grown a lot since the last time he had seen him and had lost his boyish features, Yuuri recognised him from previous Grand Ball Festivals where he had sat on the stands with the other Dukes and their families. 

"Give me the box," JJ said.

“No,” Yuuri said before he had even begun to think about what he should do, and his fingers tightened around the box. He was grateful that his voice sounded steady despite the sickening fear that seemed to turn his insides upside down.

JJ seemed taken aback for a moment, obviously not having anticipated the possibility that Yuuri might refuse. 

“I said: give it to me,” he said again, and took a step closer so the point of his sword was poking a little harder in Yuuri’s chest, right under his collarbone.

Yuuri covered the box with his arms and held it close to his body to protect it. As if JJ would forget about it if he hid it from view. 

He didn’t, of course. Instead, he placed the edge of his sword against Yuuri’s throat, took another step closer and kept walking until Yuuri felt the bookcases press against his back.

“Then I’ll take it myself,” JJ said and grabbed for the box. Yuuri held it even tighter, but the sword cut through the skin of his throat at his attempt to ward off the other man, and he was distracted by the sudden sharp stinging pain which gave JJ the opportunity to pry the box from his fingers.

He smirked as he lifted the box just so that Yuuri was forced to look at it, holding it just out of his reach. 

Yuuri felt the sweat gather on his forehead, felt his hands grow damp. He only had one knife with him, and it was still safely tucked in his boot. It had seemed like a clever thing to do, just like all those heroes in the stories his parents used to tell him, but in reality it proved to be less useful than the stories wanted to make you believe.

He needed more time, he needed time to think this through, to figure out how to get the heart back and return it to Viktor.

To his surprise, it was JJ who talked first: “Well, well, look what I’ve found. No one other than the Runaway Prince himself. It seems like fairy tales really are coming alive in my hands.”

“Why are you doing this?” Yuuri couldn’t quite hide the anger dripping from his voice like grease in a fire.

Something changed in JJ’s eyes --if Yuuri didn’t know better, he would almost call it guilt-- and the smirk on his face faltered for a second. 

“He is dying, JJ,” Yuuri pressed when JJ didn’t answer him, trying to make the chink in his self-confident armour bigger, to find his merciful side and conscience. For a moment it seemed to work. For a moment, JJ looked at Yuuri and he seemed almost scared, and Yuuri even felt the pressure of the sword lessen against his throat. 

“It’s for the greater good,” JJ said, but it almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself. 

“What greater good?” 

“The people, the kingdom, the world. We will make changes, we will make everything better. We will make an end to poverty and disease. And when the other kingdoms see the improvements and prosperity we create, they’ll follow our lead and the whole world will be a better place.”

“We? Who is we?” Yuuri asked to stall for time even though he still didn’t know how he could escape. He felt the panic grow with every passing second, setting his insides alight. He didn’t want to use violence, not even to JJ, but if he couldn’t talk JJ out of killing or arresting him, he knew he would have to.

“Me and my father, of course.”

As if on cue, someone barged into the room: no one other than the Duke of Nacada himself. He must have been bathing only moments before, because his hair was still dripping, his skin was gleaming with water, and he was only wearing a white shirt that wasn’t even tucked in his trousers.

Yuuri felt light-headed, felt like he had somehow ended up in a bad dream and had confused it with reality. And that he would wake up soon and Viktor would be there lying next to him, smiling, and he would rest his hand on Viktor’s chest and it would be met with a soft thudding within. But for now, he was trapped in the dream.

Only it wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t sleeping and Viktor wasn’t smiling. Viktor was dying. And Yuuri might even precede him.

“Father,” JJ exclaimed, and Yuuri noticed the eagerness in his voice. It reminded him of a dog seeing his owner after a long lonely night.

“Where is it?” the Duke asked. His voice was harsh and loud, seemed to be too big for the room and bounced from the walls.

“I have it, father. He had already found it, but I have taken it from him. You can call the guards now then we can throw him in the dungeons.”

“The dungeons? We are not taking that risk. Kill him!”

Yuuri’s breath hitched, he felt the fear reaching out through his limbs. But instead of letting it paralyse him, he used it to prepare himself to use the opportunity to break away --or at least try and die fighting. There was no other option anymore. JJ could simply slit his throat, but for some reason Yuuri was convinced he wouldn’t do that, that he would prefer something epic like thrusting his sword into Yuuri’s stomach or chest. And for that, he needed to lift his sword, even if it was for only a second.

This was it. Yuuri’s last chance to save Viktor.

He was ready, all his muscles taut, waiting for the second of weakness, or waiting for that final blow.

But there was only JJ’s voice, sounding oddly small: “Kill him?” he echoed. He was staring at the sword against Yuuri’s throat, but his eyes didn’t seem to really register it. They were confused, scared even.

“Didn’t you hear me?” the Duke barked.

“But father… you said it would be only one. Only one life. One life and we would live forever to save thousands of others.”

“Don’t be so naive, Jean-Jacques, just get it over with and give the heart to me.”

“Don’t do it, JJ,” Yuuri rushed in, clutching to JJ’s hesitation before JJ could think and decide to obey his father’s commands. JJ’s eyes shifted to his, and Yuuri held them. “You are better than this. I know you are.” And it wasn’t even a lie anymore. “You are a good person, someone with so much potential. You don’t want to do this; you know in your _heart_ that it is wrong. So don’t let anyone make you into someone you don’t want to be.”

“Don’t listen to him! He is manipulating you; he will kill you himself as soon as you lower that sword!”

“But father,” JJ said and his eyes were distant again. Yuuri could almost see his thoughts fighting with each other behind the grey. His next words came out slow and there was a lot of space between them, as if something was holding him back from saying them and he had to force them out. “He is right. I don’t want this.”

Yuuri could barely believe this was happening. Could barely believe there was still a little bit of hope left, a sigh, a whisper, something that any other person wouldn’t even recognise as hope, but still. 

“Don’t be a fool, JJ. You believe this Prince, no this _coward_ , over your own father?”

“But I don’t want to be a murderer.” JJ’s voice was very small and it almost got lost in the air surrounding them, but it sent a shiver down Yuuri’s spine.

“For the gods’ sake, Jean-Jacques, stop whining! Just kill him and give me the heart so I can live forever!”

Everyone froze. For just a moment it seemed like they had discovered the secret of how to outwit time, only the faint beating of the heart in JJ’s hand assured Yuuri that the world was still spinning. The Duke stood there, still at the door with his dripping hair and clothes that were gradually being soaked by the water on his skin, staring at JJ with a mixture of horror, regret and hope on his features. JJ’s face didn’t betray anything, his eyes were wide but fixed on Yuuri’s throat where the blade of the sword was trembling ever so slightly; he didn’t even seem to be breathing. And then there was Yuuri who had no other choice than to watch it all unfold before his eyes, no other choice than to lay his fate --Viktor’s fate-- in their greedy hands, awaiting his chance to finally take control again. 

“Say that again.” JJ’s voice was stronger this time, somehow occupying more space than before.

“Jean-Jacques, I didn’t mean- it was just a slip of the tongue. I-”

“You used me,” JJ said, and it was so ugly, so full of pain and hurt that Yuuri’s heart clenched. 

“No, son, I would never-”

“Only one, you said. Only one life for the greater good. We, you said, _we_ would make this world a better place. But one is not enough for you, is it? Even though ‘we’ is too many apparently.”

Yuuri felt the pressure on his throat lessen until suddenly there was no cold steel against his throat anymore, and even though he didn’t want to, he fell to his knees. For some reason gasping for air, feeling as if he might faint.

JJ took a step back and turned around to face his father. “You are a liar. You are the one who is manipulating me, who has been using me all my life. You are the coward in this room, and I am not who you want me to be. I won’t. And this,” he said and lifted the box in his hands. “This isn’t ours. Was never ours to take. If we steal from someone, _murder_ someone to seize power, how can we ever be better than them?”

He turned around again partially to where Yuuri had somehow managed to scramble up again.

“Take it, your Royal Highness,” JJ said, “Take it back to the King.”

He reached out the box, and Yuuri reached out his hands to accept it, but his fingers just grasped empty air as JJ was yanked backwards by his father. JJ fell to the ground, but the Duke managed to stay standing and grab the box out of JJ’s hands. _Come on, do something_ a voice was screaming in Yuuri’s head, but before he could command his muscles to move, JJ had already gotten back up and charged at his father. He grabbed him by the stomach and rammed him against the stone wall with a crushing impact. 

Because of the force of their collision, the box had slipped from the Duke’s fingers and fell to the ground with a dull clatter. 

“Take it, Prince Yuuri!” JJ shouted as he struggled to restrain his father, both of them kicking and punching so much it was unclear who was on the upper hand. The words brought Yuuri back to himself, snatched him out of his paralysed state, and he dove for the box on the ground. He held it close to his chest; this time, no one would get between them. Over his dead body.

At the wall, the two men were still fighting, still struggling. With a feint, the Duke almost managed to slip past JJ, and Yuuri wanted to warn him but JJ’s reflexes were faster. He had grabbed the Duke by the collar of his shirt before any sound could pass Yuuri’s lips. 

Because of the fighting and the movement, they had inched along the wall without noticing, but it was only now, as JJ instinctively pushed the Duke, that they realised how close they had come to the open window. 

The Duke still grabbed for his son, and JJ still reached for his father, but besides soft fabric for a second caressing skin, there was only empty air.

Even Yuuri had started running to the window to help JJ, to help the Duke. He stopped when the screaming ended in a distant and sickening thud.

It left the room in silence, as if it had sucked all the sound from the world. JJ stared at the ground through the window. Yuuri stared at JJ’s back through the haze of his eyes. He felt sick, he felt relieved, he felt guilty, he felt so many things he didn’t know what to feel. But he didn’t even want to imagine how JJ was feeling.

It suddenly struck Yuuri how young JJ was, how green and gullible. He was only nineteen, much too young for any of this. Yuuri wasn’t even sure if anyone was ever old enough. 

“I’m so sorry, JJ,” Yuuri said but it was barely more than a whisper, more air than voice. “I never…” He didn’t know how to go on. What use did words have now anyway?

“Just go, Yuuri,” JJ said. Strangled, almost choking. “Just go and save him.” 

Yuuri stood there for a moment more, torn because of the grief in the boy’s voice, the horror of everything that had just happened.

“Go!” JJ shouted, and the anger set fire beneath Yuuri’s feet. He went. Clutching the box with Viktor’s heart against his chest, running with the tragedy he had witnessed still clinging to him, running to avert another one.

*****

"Come on, Makkachin, you can do it. We're almost there, hold on," Yuuri said through his panting. Makkachin was at the end of his capacity. He was slowing down and Yuuri felt horrible for forcing him like this.

The sun was long gone, and Viktor's life was hanging by a fragile thread which was rapidly growing thinner and thinner.

With a last straining effort, they reached the gates, the bridge had already been dropped down again and Yuuri felt relief flutter in his stomach. The guards must have seen him approach.

When he was inside the walls and jumped off of Makkachin, however, there were guards awaiting him, and they grabbed him as soon as his feet hit the ground.

"No! I found it, I found the King's heart!" he said, but the guards didn't loosen their grip. He writhed and kicked, trying to free himself. "Let me go, I have to bring it to him before it's too late! Let go off me!" One of the guards said something Yuuri couldn't understand, and he felt their grip slacken. He seized the opportunity and broke free with a painful twist of his arms. He clenched his teeth and ignored the pain that shot up in his shoulders, and ran off into the castle.

He went to Viktor’s chambers first, running faster than his feet could carry him, but when he came there, the room was dark and the bed was empty. He refused to believe he was too late, refused to even think about it. He heard the guards’ clinking armour coming down the corridor and ran away before they reached him. There was another place Yuuri thought Viktor might be, and he prayed to the gods that he was right.

“I have it! Let me in!” he yelled as soon as he turned the corner and saw Phichit standing guard at the door.

“Yuuri?” 

“Open the doors, I have to save him!” Phichit did, and Yuuri didn’t slow down when he reached it. He was only faintly aware of the door closing behind him again, locked before the guards that were chasing him could enter.

He burst into the rink, and Viktor was lying there, in the middle of the ice on a heap of colourful pillows and blankets.

"Viktor!" Yuuri yelled and ran to him, skidding on the ice, but keeping his balance. He had made it, Viktor was still alive and would stay alive tomorrow and the day after and the day after. He had made it. He dropped to his knees at Viktor's side. "Viktor, I've got it! I've got your heart."

"Yuuri." Viktor's voice was weak and broken, barely more than a breath. Yuuri's stomach twisted. "How...?"

"Doesn't matter now." He didn’t want to think about JJ or the Duke or the tower. The only thing that mattered was giving Viktor's heart back. He opened the box and gently took the heart in his hands. He wasn't sure what he had to do next, he hadn't really thought about it. He had assumed once Viktor was reunited with his heart everything would be okay.

He carefully held it against Viktor's chest, right where he knew the scar was hidden beneath his shirt, and looked at Viktor in expectation, waiting for a sign, any sign at all.

Seconds passed and then minutes and nothing happened. Except for Viktor's heartbeat slowly growing weaker in his hand.

"Yuuri-"

"No! Just wait, it will work. Everything will be all right. It just takes some time. You'll see." Yuuri didn't want to believe the defeat in Viktor's voice, didn't want to believe its impassiveness even now his heart was resting on his chest. "Maybe it has to be on your skin," he said and tried to unbutton Viktor's shirt with his free hand.

"Yuuri, it's okay," Viktor said, so insisting that Yuuri was silenced. Viktor took the hand that was working at the buttons of his shirt and held it in his. Yuuri noticed how much he struggled even with such an easy gesture, how weak his grip was. And only now he saw how thin Viktor was, how sickeningly pale. Dark circles beneath his stark and dull eyes, hollowed cheeks beneath protruding cheekbones.

Yuuri's vision blurred and he almost choked on the lump in his throat. He tightened his grip on Viktor's hand, his bones felt so fragile Yuuri was afraid they would break.

"It's okay, Yuuri," Viktor repeated and closed his eyes briefly, swallowing. He was breathing as if it was the hardest thing in the world. Maybe it was. He looked into Yuuri's eyes. "You can have it. Then I will live forever a little too."

Yuuri couldn't hold the sob back anymore. "I don't want it, I want you. I don't want to live without you. Not even for a day."

Something seemed to break inside of Viktor. His breathing quickened, his chest heaving up and down, and Yuuri thought he could see tears glistening in his eyes, but maybe they were just his own.

"And I don't want to leave you," Viktor whispered, and took a shaky breath. "You have taught me so much. How to live. How to love." His voice broke on the last word and Yuuri's chest was heavy with such a profound pain he could never have imagined existed. "I love you, Yuuri."

There was another excruciating sting, like a knife twisted in an open wound.

Viktor's eyes widened, and now Yuuri was certain they were shining with tears, but there was something else too. Surprise. And... something achingly close to relief. A second later, Yuuri realised why and he couldn't help but smile himself when the corners of Viktor's lips curled upwards in disbelief. Yuuri felt hope blossoming in his chest.

"I feel it," Viktor said, and let out a breathy laugh, seeking and finding Yuuri's eyes again. "I can feel it, Yuuri,” he whispered faintly. 

And even though the smile stayed on his lips, the light of his eyes dulled slowly until it was nothing more than a memory.

"Viktor," Yuuri whispered. And again when there was no reaction.

No. This wasn't happening. Viktor had been feeling it, the curse had been lifted, Viktor had been getting better. This wasn't happening.

"Viktor," he said, a little louder this time as if Viktor had fallen asleep and he could wake him up. The heart was quiet and motionless in his hand. He let go of it to take Viktor in his arms, shaking him a little. "Viktor." His voice seemed to come from very far away, he felt the word falling from his lips rather than that it reached his ears.

He cradled Viktor's head close to his chest, and pressed his mouth to his soft silver hair, leaving wet stains from his running nose and mouth and eyes. "Stay by my side, Viktor," he whispered, "you promised, remember? Stay by my side and never leave."

He was trembling, shaking, shuddering. He looked up and begged for the fairy, for the gods, for anyone to set this right. But no one seemed to listen, so eventually he just sat there and held Viktor close, pretending he was still warm, that his chest was still going up and down, that his arm wasn't dangling lifelessly on the blankets.

Yuuri didn't notice Yurio or Yakov or Lilia or members of the Council standing around the rink, watching him with their hands over their mouths and sorrow in their eyes. He didn't notice the snow falling from the ceiling until it fell on Viktor's cheek. He looked up and saw how it enveloped them until it was whirling around them in a blizzard.

Instinctively, he held Viktor tighter. He thought he could see a flash of red hair and blue wings, but before he could be sure the blizzard took hold of them as well and he had to close his eyes against the cutting snow. He bent over Viktor, protecting his body with his own, and hoped the blizzard had come to take him too.

He didn't know how long the storm lasted. It could have been minutes or hours or days of white noise and freezing cold, and he remembered at one point being convinced that he was dead. But then everything cleared, as if the snow lay down, except there was no trace of any snow left.

Yuuri didn't lift his head immediately, barely noticing it was over, until a distant sound reached his ear. A soft and steady thudding. At first, Yuuri had thought it was his own heart pounding in his ears, but it didn't sound exactly right.

When he lifted his head and looked at the man he was holding in his arms, his own heart almost stopped working.

Viktor's beautiful blue eyes were fluttering open, and Yuuri's chest and limbs and his whole body swelled with joy and relief and love and everything good in the world.

Yuuri could pinpoint the exact moment Viktor realised what was in his chest, and it made Yuuri smile so wide he thought his mouth might rip apart. When Viktor's eyes focused on Yuuri, a smile appeared on his face as well, and it was made of so much light and so much love that Yuuri thought he might burst.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said, and Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor, and they held each other close as if they would never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~This was a very hard chapter for me to write, but I hope I did at least a little bit of a good job...~~
> 
> Next chapter will be a short epilogue that I will post somewhere in the next two weeks hopefully! But I can't say for sure, because I'm horrible at planning.
> 
> (Also: the title for this chapter was taken from this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7egYKkIKqDs), and it made me cry when I first listened to it and imagined it with this story T_T)
> 
> Anyway, don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'd love to hear your thoughts!! <3


	12. I Think Our Lives Have Just Begun

Yuuri was nervous.

He had been nervous earlier, when he had been standing in the entry to the rink right before his free skate, but this was another kind of nervous. It was a more personal kind somehow, a kind he didn’t know other people would be able to understand. 

“It’s going to be okay, Yuuri.” Well, maybe one person could. He swallowed and squeezed back in Viktor’s hand. He stared at the door, tried to follow the winding lines to distract him, but all his mind could focus on was what he would find inside. Who he would find inside.

He had thought he was ready, and he knew he was, but right in this moment, the doubt crept back in his chest and stomach. What if he hadn’t been good enough? 

After his arrest, his secret had been discovered and before long, everyone knew that the Runaway Prince had been found, and that he had been apprehended for stealing King Viktor’s heart. They hated him, couldn’t believe their ears; of course a lot of them already thought he was a coward, but they had never thought him a thief or someone ill intentioned. When the news spread a few days later that he had also saved the King, the scorn and insults promptly changed into admiration and ‘told you so’s’, as if they had always been convinced of Yuuri’s innocence.

But Yuuri didn’t even know about that until after his short program. Just after everything that had happened, he didn’t even pay attention to what people said behind his back, too busy making sure Viktor got better, never leaving his side.

Viktor had grown very weak in those horrible three days, and the healers had prescribed him some time in bed to recover with as little exertion as possible besides his daily exercises. But Viktor himself didn’t seem to feel any of it. He was laughing and smiling and his eyes were so very alight and he was getting out of bed every two minutes because ‘Yuuri, the garden is so beautiful, let’s take a walk’, or ‘Yuuri, I miss Makka, let’s go and say hi’, or ‘Yuuri, the Grand Ball Festival is next month, we should train, put on your skates’ and Yuuri had to kindly but quite insistently push him back in the bed every time. 

“I’ll go talk to the healers,” he would say, “maybe tomorrow if you’re feeling better.” He was never able to keep the soft smile from his face, could never hold himself back from brushing the hair out of his fiancé’s face or cupping his cheek with his hand. And Viktor would complain a little but then he would look at Yuuri and hold his hand or pull him in in a lingering kiss that made Yuuri melt inside.

After some persuading, Yuuri managed to get the permission from the healers. First, he took Viktor to the gardens and even though the gardens weren’t that big that one could stroll through them for almost a whole day, it did take them almost a whole day. One reason was that they had to stop and rest quite a lot, because despite what Viktor claimed, he was still weak and couldn’t stand for a long amount of time. But another reason --the main reason-- for their almost ridiculously slow pace, was Viktor being in awe with everything he saw. He wanted to touch every tree, every rare flower that was still in bloom, he stood still in front of each statue to marvel at their beauty, he wanted to watch the fish in the ponds, pointing them out to Yuuri with an excitement that’s usually only reserved for children. While he was staring at the fish, Yuuri plucked a little blue flower. When he handed it to Viktor, Viktor’s eyes widened for a second, and then a smile slowly spread over his face and Yuuri could see tears shining in his eyes. He reached up and kissed the words ‘I love you’ against Viktor’s lips.

The day after, he took Viktor to the stables. Makkachin neighed happily at the sight of them and Viktor’s lips curled into one of the biggest smiles Yuuri had ever seen, one of those heart-shaped ones he loved so much. While they were grooming Makkachin together, Yuuri noticed Viktor’s hand had fallen silent after a while and he was staring at Makkachin’s fur where his fingers were drawing small circles. 

“Are you alright, love?” Yuuri asked. “Do you need to sit down for a moment?”

Viktor shook his head. “It’s just…” he faltered for a second and looked up, searching for something to ground him and finding it in Yuuri’s eyes. “It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

“I know,” Yuuri said softly, and reached over Makkachin’s back to squeeze Viktor’s hand.

After a week, they went to the rink for the first time together. Yuuri had been training when Viktor was taking one of his naps or when Viktor ordered him to go and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Yuuri never wanted to leave Viktor, but he couldn’t afford time off skating, so he went alone every day. But now, Viktor was finally there with him again. 

There was no one else on the rink; Yakov had agreed to leave it empty for two hours, a nice gesture since the festival was drawing near. 

“Are you nervous?” Yuuri asked when he was tying Viktor’s laces because bending down still sent Viktor dizzy and spinning. 

“A little,” Viktor admitted and Yuuri could hear in the strained sound of his voice that it was, in fact, more than a little.

“No need, your body is still healing. Just take it easy and everything will be fine.” He smiled at Viktor.

“No, it’s not that. Well, it is, but that’s not all.” He looked at the ice and made a vague gesture with his hand. “I guess I’m just afraid because I don’t know what’s coming and…”

“And?” Yuuri coaxed him gently when Viktor didn’t seem to be finishing his sentence.

Viktor paused for a second longer. “And I’m afraid this is all a dream and everything will seep right back out of me when I leave the ice.”

Yuuri’s heart ached for him, for the fear he was still living with, that tiny voice he knew so well himself that was always whispering your greatest fears in your ear. He took Viktor’s hand in his and pressed them together against Viktor’s chest where they were met with an undeniable thudding.

“It’s right here, Viktor,” he said. “It’s never leaving you again.”

Viktor looked at him and nodded, a small smile slowly curving his lips. “Thank you.”

And then they skated and for a moment it was just like all those other nights. And even though Viktor couldn’t do any jumps or spins yet, couldn’t even go all that fast, it was still perfect. Just the two of them and the ice, as if it had never been any different. 

Time slipped by and the Grand Ball Festival inched closer and closer, but it was only the week before that Yuuri started to feel the first stings of panic. Viktor had improved a lot in the last few days and was almost fully recovered, so now Yuuri didn’t have to worry about him anymore, he could spend all his time worrying about the festival.

In the past weeks, he had never really thought about the outside world, about the reaction of the people when they heard the Runaway Prince was found. It had all seemed so insignificant and trivial compared to what he and Viktor had gone through, that he hadn’t even really cared.

But now he did think about it, and he realised he did care about it. Very very much. Everyone had accepted him in Viktor’s castle, but they had all seen him saving Viktor, had all seen how close the King had been to death and how Yuuri had only just prevented it. 

He wanted to know what the outside world thought, but he was grateful nonetheless that Viktor didn’t allow any whispers to reach his ears. He knew it was wiser to just focus on his comeback like they would have done if his secret hadn’t been revealed prematurely. The only thing the news would do now, was enhance his anxiety, and that was the last thing he needed at the moment.

In the last week before the festival, he was practically living at the rink; he was always the first to arrive and the last to leave again. Not only because he wanted to get the maximum amount of training, but also because while he was skating, he could escape the worries tugging at his mind. 

And then it was almost there, and the royalty as well as nobility and peasants from other kingdoms arrived in the capital of Ussira to attend the festivities. Yuuri and Viktor had both agreed it was better that Yuuri didn’t show himself until the short program; Yuuri wanted it to be the first thing anyone saw of him again, to show them how much he had changed. Or not ‘changed’ exactly, more like ‘became more himself’, grown into whatever it was that lay at the core of his being. So Yuuri didn’t come along when Viktor had to greet and welcome the other royal houses at their arrival. Instead, he tried to lose himself in his skating --even though it didn’t quite work as well as when Viktor was there with him. And when the first guests arrived, he retreated to Viktor’s chambers and tried to get some sleep until Viktor returned.

And so the days right before the festival were spent in deserted parts of the castle where he did exercises and went through the choreographies, in Viktor’s chambers where Viktor’s absence was tangible like a bruise because he had to greet and dine with his guests, at the rink when it was already dark and the other participants had finished training for the day. But every time he saw Viktor and the lights in his eyes wherever they were, he felt the heaviness in his chest become somewhat more bearable, and he felt like everything was falling right back into place.

And then it was the first day of the Grand Ball Festival, and the rink had filled with thousands of people, and Yuuri was dying inside.

“Welcome, Your Majesties, your Royal Highnesses, your Graces. Ladies and gentlemen. This year’s Grand Ball Festival is opened by the princes’ short programs. And the first participant is none other than the Runaway Prince who has finally been found. After four long years: here is, Prince Katsuki Yuuri of Ohinn!”

It was dead silent when Yuuri entered the rink, as if the crowd had simultaneously sucked in their breath. Yuuri could feel their eyes stinging in his skin. The eyes of his parents were there somewhere, of his sister, of his people.

He swallowed and tried to keep his breathing under control when he skated to the middle of the rink. Before the music started, he locked eyes with Viktor standing at the side, and his lips curled into a meaningful smile. Yuuri couldn’t help but smile himself; Viktor had given him quite some… inspiration for his Eros routine the night before.

Yuuri banned out all his surroundings, everything except for Viktor and the memories and the ice.

The orchestra started to play, and Yuuri started to skate. 

He did well, and he could feel the atmosphere change throughout his routine, could feel the air get charged with a heavy feeling of seduction and lust. He was relieved with the applause at the end, shockingly loud and in sharp contrast with the silence he had been greeted with, but he wasn’t quite satisfied with his performance. He’d had to touch a hand to the ice after one of the jumps, and his presentation had already been better during practice.

Viktor was right there when he stepped off the ice, wrapping his arms around Yuuri in a tight embrace. “You were stunning, Yuuri,” he said in his ear over the cheers of the crowd, and it somewhat eased Yuuri’s disappointment.

They went to take their seats in the front row of the stands reserved for royalty, and Yuuri tried to ignore the stares. They watched the other princes skate, and Yuuri stole a glance at Viktor during Prince Yuri’s routine which Viktor had choreographed as well. He felt a warm feeling settle in his chest when he saw the pride shimmering in Viktor’s eyes. Prince Yuri’s performance wasn’t flawless and he still had a lot to learn, but it was a very good Grand Ball Festival debut, and the crowd went wild when he was done. 

When it was Viktor’s turn --he was the very last skater since he was already a king--, the crowds roared and Yuuri could feel the ground shake beneath his feet. It died down hesitantly, turning into a question when they noticed Viktor was still sitting in the stands, not at all dressed for skating.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the host said, “with a heavy heart” --the crowd cringed and shuffled at his choice of words, some even giggled-- “I have to inform you that his Majesty King Viktor Nikiforov will not participate in the Grand Ball Festival this year. He hasn’t elaborated on the reason why, but wishes to make an announcement after the princes’ free skate in two days.” The room burst out in a wave of muttering and whispers. 

“Even when you’re not skating, you never cease to surprise, do you?” Yuuri said fondly, and Viktor smiled.

The host waited until the murmurs faded away. “I wish you all a good night, and I will gladly see you again for the princesses’ short programs tomorrow. Happy Grand Ball Festival!”

“Happy Grand Ball Festival!” the crowd cheered right back.

The next day, Yuuri sat in the stands and saw his sister again for the first time in four years. He had seen her in the last Grand Ball Festival, but he had sat all the way in the back where he had hardly been able to see anything because of the tall man sitting in front of him, so that didn’t really count.

When he was a child, watching his sister skate had been his favourite thing to do. He admired her elegance, her discipline and focus; she had been his role model, even before Viktor. Watching her again, out there on the ice like he had done all his life, made his chest ache with how much he missed her and his family, Minako and his childhood friend Yuuko. He desperately wanted to see them, but he also dreaded to see them, so he had given himself until after his free skate, until he had shown them everything he could to prove himself to them, to apologise to them.

He could see his sister had made some last minute changes in the choreography of her routine, parts that weren’t quite as polished as the rest, but they were so beautifully executed, so intense that it didn’t matter. He could also see it had a lot to do with him and the news about his return. By the end of her routine, Yuuri blinked away the tears in his eyes and Viktor had shifted a little closer so their shoulders were touching, letting him know he was there.

When Yuuri entered the rink for his free skate the day after, the crowd did cheer for him and he felt hope blossoming in his chest. He tuned most of it out, though, not wanting to lose his concentration right before his skating. 

They had left the quad flip at the end of the routine even though Yuuri landed it only half of the time in practice, and on Yuuri’s request they had also made some other changes in the jump composition. Viktor had been hesitant at first, but when he had seen Yuuri’s determination --and realised that he wouldn’t be able to change his mind anyway-- he had shown nothing but support and trust in Yuuri’s ability.

Right after his short program, Yuuri had started doubting himself, worrying that the routine was too hard after all, that he would never be able to pull it off. But standing there on the ice, waiting for the first notes to ring through the room, a calmness settled inside of him. He thought about the skating of his sister, he thought about Viktor’s smiles and their duets. He pressed a kiss to the ring on his finger, and smiled before he skated.

There was a slight pause after his routine ended, a silence where he could only hear the sound of his heart beating and his breath heaving, where he only had eye for Viktor, whom he was reaching out for and who touched both his hands to his chest as if he was holding Yuuri right there with his heart. Then the thunderous applause of the crowd slowly slipped into focus and it was like nothing he had ever heard before. He pumped his fists in the air and screamed out of sheer relief and elation. He had done it. He had landed all his jumps; his combinations, his quad flip. He had done it. He was back.

When he came to himself again, he ran into Viktor’s arms and they were both crying a little when they let go of each other.

The rest of the skaters went by in a blur and Yuuri found himself relaxed and enjoying the moment like he hadn’t done for a long time. At last, the host said: “His Majesty King Viktor Nikiforov of Ussira.” 

Viktor stood up with a last tightening of their locked fingers, the metal of Viktor’s ring cold against Yuuri’s skin. Applause echoed from the walls, but it died down quickly as Viktor made his way as close to the centre of the room as he could get without stepping on the ice. Everyone was too eager to know what Viktor had to say, holding their breath like they had done right before Yuuri’s short program, making as little sound as possible as to not miss a word rolling from Viktor’s lips.

Viktor smiled and it was the most genuine smile Yuuri had ever seen on his face at a Grand Ball Festival when he wasn’t on the ice. It warmed his heart.

“Your Majesties, your Graces, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I am not participating this year, as you have all noticed. I intended to, I even had two possibilities for my short programs already, but I couldn’t choose and I didn’t even have an idea of where to start with my free skate yet. I felt drained, exhausted even, but then, as if the gods knew what I needed more than I knew myself, something very special happened to me.” He paused for a moment, his eyes cast to the ground, and he seemed to be smiling to himself. It made Yuuri’s lips curve upwards as well, his own eyes sparkling with the same memories.

“Someone very special came into my life. Some say I have found him, the lost Prince, but I would rather say he found himself.” Viktor looked up at the crowd again. “Everything I have, I have to thank him for. For giving me my inspiration back, for teaching me about life and love. And despite what many of you may have thought, Yuuri, Prince Yuuri, didn’t steal my heart --well, he did in a way,” his smile turned soft and warm like the clouds at sunset, and his eyes found Yuuri’s, “But he brought it right back to me.”

Yuuri was only faintly aware of the gasps in the audience, of their eyes on him, the soft whispers that were now hissing around him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Viktor, couldn’t think about anything else besides how much he loved him and how he had ever ended up here, how he wanted to be nowhere else in the entire world. He quickly wiped away the tears in his eyes to keep Viktor from blurring out of view, and Viktor’s smile widened before he turned back to the audience.

“I will be participating in the Grand Ball Festival again next year,” Viktor continued, and a sigh of relief rippled through the stands, but it was short-lived when Viktor said: “Although not as I used to.” Yuuri could almost feel the fear rising in the crowds: did Viktor just mean ‘coaching’ by ‘participating’? Would they never see him on the ice again? 

Viktor touched the ring on his finger with his other hand, turned it around with that bright smile still on his face. “Next year, I will not skate alone. I will never skate alone again in my life, in fact. Because next year, I will be pair skating with my Runaway Prince, with Prince Katsuki Yuuri.”

Of course, Yuuri had already known Viktor would say this, but his heart still skipped a beat when the words left his lips. 

The audience on the other hand seemed absolutely stunned. Everyone knew what pair skates meant: only married kings and queens did them. And the silence took hold of the room once again, heavy now as if it was there to stay. 

Until the lonely clapping of one person broke through. It came from behind Yuuri, and when he turned around, looking all the way up the stands with the royal seats, he found its source. She hadn’t changed at all in four years, her short brown hair, her round face, her kind eyes that seemed to be shining but Yuuri couldn’t tell for sure from this distance. 

_Okaasan._

She was joined by a second pair of clapping hands, right next to her. Yuuri’s eyes shifted to the man sitting beside her, and the breath stilled in his lungs when he saw the content smile he knew so well on his father’s face.

_Otousan._

They were joined soon, the applause trickling through the stands, swelling with cheers and shouts and whistles, until the whole rink was one sea of applause and noise. Yuuri was smiling and laughing and maybe he was crying as he looked around the room. When his eyes found Viktor again, Viktor was turning back to him as well, and he too was laughing and not as composed anymore as he had been only moments before, overwhelmed by the deafening cheers of the crowd.

Before Yuuri knew what he was doing, he was running. Running with feet that seemed to be given wings by the support of his family, by the encouragement of the audience, by the brightness in Viktor’s eyes and smile. He ran until he reached Viktor and they almost stumbled over with the force of their embrace, but neither of them cared as their lips met and everything around them turned into happiness.

And now, Yuuri was standing in front of that door. Nervous, but in all the right ways. With the memory still fresh in his mind, the doubt shrunk away again; he knew everything was going to be okay. He knew he was right where he belonged.

With a last squeeze in Viktor’s hand, he let go and opened the door. The three people stood up from their chairs at the sound of the door and their faces broke out in bright smiles at the sight of him. Yuuri’s chest ached with a pain that wasn't altogether unpleasant, a reminiscent feeling of missing something essential, blended with the indescribable joy of finding it again.

“Yuuri!” his father said, and Yuuri fell into his open arms, soon feeling the arms of his mother and sister around him as well, holding him tight.

“I’m back,” he said, surrounded by the floral scent of his childhood home.

*****

“This was always my favourite part of the festival,” Yuuri told Viktor. They were standing on the balcony just outside of the ballroom, where the other royal family members had also gathered to watch the fireworks, the finale of the Grand Ball and the festival as a whole. They were huddled close, more for each other’s presence than to ward off the cold.

“I can understand why now,” Viktor said. Yuuri turned his face to look at him, he was watching the spectacle in the sky with a small smile around his lips, his hair and skin and the golden crown on his head flickering in the brightest colours of red and blue and pink and orange on the rhythm of the sharp popping sounds of the fireworks, fading away again along with the sizzling that followed.

“You know, for a moment I thought you would be the one to steal my heart,” Viktor said, glancing at Yuuri for a moment. 

“I would never-”

“I know, Yuuri.” He let out a little laugh at Yuuri’s haste to reassure him, and after a soft kiss to his cheek, he turned his gaze back to the sky and the colours it was filled with. “Or at least, I know you wouldn’t do it literally. But for a moment, when I woke up at the Duke’s castle and again that third day when my mind was clear again, I thought even the figurative way was enough, although it was weird it hadn’t happened sooner.”

They were silent for a moment, watching the fireworks, listening to the explosions and the awed gasps and excited talking from the other guests. 

“How do you think the curse was lifted?” Yuuri asked softly. His eyes darted to Viktor and the pensive look on his face told him he was considering his answer.

“I think it was lifted when you didn’t accept my heart, not when you found it at the Duke’s castle nor when I gave it to you willingly. I think it was that moment, when you didn’t want it without me, that saved me.”

“Interesting,” Yuuri said as he watched blue lights rain down.

“What do you think it was?”

“I thought it was precisely the fact that you _would_ give your heart away, even if it meant you would… But I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Or maybe the fairy finally had some time in her schedule and decided to drop by.” Yuuri burst out laughing which encouraged Viktor to continue: “I heard she has a new fairy girlfriend, so that could explain it. Well, I say new, they started dating two decades ago but for them it’s the equivalent of two weeks.”

“Aw, puppy love,” Yuuri said which sent them into another wave of laughter.

When the last of their giggles had died down and Yuuri had wiped the tears from his eyes, he looked into Viktor’s eyes and what he saw was even more beautiful than the fireworks above them.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” Viktor said, his face glowing red and orange and golden. “With all my heart.”

*****

_Once upon a time there were a Heartless King and a Runaway Prince. Both wandering, both lost, both lonely in their own ways. One was looking for something to fill the emptiness inside his chest, the other for himself, and they both found it through each other._

_It is not every day that two fairy tales meet, or maybe they were always just two parts of the same story, but when it happens, it feels like magic._

_No one forgot the wedding skate of King Viktor Nikiforov and King Katsuki Yuuri of Ussira, no one forgot their pair skates at the Grand Ball Festivals in the many years after, no one forgot their story and their undying love for centuries and centuries to come._

_King Viktor and King Yuuri brought wealth and prosperity to the kingdom, as well as happiness and love. They brought skating to the people, not only to not repeat what had happened with the Duke, but also because they wanted to share it with the world. And King Yuuri felt incredibly proud when his friend Phichit was the first non-royal participant of the Grand Ball Festival in history._

_And Yuuri and Viktor themselves? They skated together for the rest of their lives, falling a little more in love every day._

_And they lived happily ever after._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It all started over half a year ago as an idea that consisted of only one sentence, and look where we are now... I can't believe I've actually done this, I have never written such a big project before, or never finished it at least, and wow I got so emotional writing this last chapter (just like I'm getting a little emotional now). Thank you so so much for joining me on this journey and reading this story, you all have my infinite love! And I hope you enjoyed it at least half as much as I have. :)
> 
> For the very last time: don't hesitate to leave a comment, I love hearing what you thought of it (the chapter or the story as a whole)!!
> 
> See you next level, everyone! <3 <3 <3


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